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COUNTER-CURRENTS. 

AMERICANS  AND  OTHERS. 

A  HAPPY   HALF-CENTURY  AND  OTHER 
ESSAYS. 

IN  OUR  CONVENT  DAYS 

COMPROMISES. 

THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX.    With  4  full-page 
and  17  text  Illustrations  by  Miss  E.  Bonsall. 

BOOKS  AND  MEN. 

POINTS  OF  VIEW 

ESSAYS   IN   IDLENESS. 

IN  THE  DOZY  HOURS,  AND  OTHER  PA- 
PERS. 

ESSAYS   IN  MINIATURE. 

A    BOOK   OF    FAMOUS  VERSE.     Selected 
by  Agnes  Repplier.     In  Riverside  Library 
for  Young  People. 
THE  SAME.     Holiday  Edition. 

VARIA. 


HOUGHTON   MIFFLIN  COMPANY 
Boston  and  Nbw  York 


2Dl)e  i^tiitx^int  %ihxm  for  ^oung  ff  opie 


Number  9 
A   BOOK   OF    FAMOUS   VERSE 

SELECTED  BY  AGNES  REPPLIER 


A  BOOK  OF  FAMOUS  VERSE 


SELECTED   BY 

AGNES  REPPLIER,  Litt.  D. 


•'  '    '>■'   •  ^^^oemhj^t^.    ,  ;  > '  '. 


BOSTON   AND   NEW   YORK 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

^be  fiitocrjiibe  pee?iS  Cambriboe 


56956 


Copyright,  1892, 
By  HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  CO. 

All  rights  reserved. 


\  1^1 


\0 


INTRODUCTION 


The  pleasant  part  of  editing  a  little  book  like  this 
is  the  gathering  together  of  many  well-loved  poems ; 
the  heart-breaking  part  is  the  exclusion  of  quite  as 
many  more.  "  There  is  so  much  uiviting  us,"  says 
Mr.  Arnold,  "  what  are  we  to  take  ?  "  How,  in  the 
ripened  orchard,  can  we  bear  to  fill  one  small  bas- 
ket, and  go  away  leaving  the  boughs  heavy  with 
unplucked  fruit  ?  How,  amid  friends,  can  we  open 
the  door  to  a  few,  and  bid  the  others  wait  ?  The 
enjoyment  which  children  receive  from  poetry  is 
far-reaching  and  of  many  kinds.  Martial  strains 
which  fire  the  blood,  fairy  music  ringing  in  the  ears, 
half-told  tales  which  set  the  young  heart  dreaming, 
brave  deeds,  unhappy  fates,  sombre  ballads,  keen 
joyous  lyrics,  and  small  jeweled  verses  where  every 
word  shines  like  a  polished  gem,  —  all  these  good 
things  the  children  know  and  love.  It  is  useless  to 
offer  them  mere  rhymes  and  jingles  ;  it  is  ungener- 
ous to  stint  their  young,  vigorous  imaginations  with 
obvious  prattle,  fitted  dexterously  to  their  under- 
standings.    In  the  matter  of  poetry,  a  child's  ima- 


Vi  INTRODUCTION 

gination  outstrips  his  understanding ;  his  emotions 
carry  him  far  beyond  the  narrow  reach  of  his  intel- 
ligence. He  has  but  one  lesson  to  learn,  —  the  les- 
son of  enjoyment,  —  and  that  it  hardly  lies  in  our 
power  to  teach.  We  can  but  show  him  the  fair 
fields  of  song,  and  let  him  glean  where  he  will. 
All  the  harvest  is  ripened  to  his  hand,  and  he  knows 
where  his  own  store  lies. 

In  selecting  these  few  poems  I  have  had  no  other 
motive  than  to  give  pleasure  to  the  children  who 
may  read  them ;  and  I  have  tried  to  study  their 
tastes,  and  feelings,  and  desires.  If  I  succeed,  my 
reward  wiU  be  very  great ;  for  to  help  a  child  to  the 
love  of  poetry  is  to  insure  for  him  one  source  of 
happiness  in  a  not  too  happy  world.  It  is  to  charm 
and  brighten  the  gray  routine  of  life,  and  to  lift  him 
for  some  brief,  sweet  moments  from  all  the  cares, 
and  vexations,  and  drudgeries  of  earth  up  to  those 
shining  abodes  — 

"where  the  Eternal  are." 

A.  R. 


CONTENTS 

PAOB 

Hunting  Son© Scott.  1 

The  Solitaey  Reaper         .        .        .      Wordsworth.  2 

Epitaph  on  a  Hake Cowper.  3 

Infant  Joy Blake.  5 

At  Sea Cunningham.  6 

LoKD  Ulun's  Daughter     .        .        .          Campbell.  7 

A  Boy's  Song Hogg.  9 

The  Chambered  Nautilus          .        .        .     Holmes.  10 

My  Playmate Whittier.  11 

Young  Lochinvar Scott.  14 

How  SLEEP  the  Brave    ....         Collins.  16 

Lucy  Gray  ;  ok,  Solitude          .        .     Wordsworth.  17 

The  Wreck  of  the  Hesperus       .        .  Longfellow.  19 

Hymn  to  Diana Jonson.  23 

Song Hood.  24 

A  Sea  Dirge Shakespeare.  24 

Lullaby Tennyson.  25 

Annan  Water Unknown.  25 

The  Sailor's  Wife Mickle.  27 

The  Blind  Boy Gibber.  29 

The  Nightingale  in  the  Study  .        .        .  Lowell.  30 

The  Fairies Allitigham.  32 

AuLD  Robin  Gray   ....       Lady  Lindsay.  35 

Jean Burns.  37 

To  a  Waterfowl Bryant.  37 

Sailors'  Song Beddoes.  39 

Carcassonne Nadaud.  39 

Choosing  a  Name        ....       Mary  Lamb.  41 

Abraham  Davenport     ....         Whittier.  42 

Sir  Marmaduke Unknown.  45 

The  Northern  Star      ....        Unknown.  46 
Like  Crusoe,  walking  by  the  Lonely 

Strand Aldrich.  47 

Song  of  Marion's  Men     .       <,       .       .       Bryant.  47 


Vlll 


CONTENTS 


The  VHiiiAGE  Blacksmith     .        .        .     Longfellow.  49 

Robert  of  Lincoln Bryant.  51 

The  Brook Tennyson.  54 

Glenara Camjphell.  56 

KuBLA  Khan Coleridge.  57 

Lucy Wordsworth.  59 

Lucy Wordsworth.  60 

To  Dianeme Herrick.  62 

The  True  Beauty Carew.  62 

To  A  Child  of  Quality,  Five  Years  Old      .  Prior.  63 

Proud  Maisee Scott.  64 

The  Passionate  Shepherd  to  his  Love    Marlowe.  65 

The  Destruction  of  Sennacherib    .        ,     Byron.  66 

Sir  Patrick  Spens Unknown.  67 

Song Peacock.  71 

The  Mariners  of  England    .        ,        .      Campbell.  72 

Old  Ironsides Holmes.  73 

Nora's  Voay Scott.  74 

The  Skeleton  in  Armor    .        .        .       Longfellow.  75 

The  Farewell Unknown.  81 

Adam  o'  Gordon Unknown.  82 

Ariel's  Songs Shakespeare.  86 

Break,  Break,  Break       ....  Tennyson.  87 

Shameful  Death Morris.  88 

To  A  Mountain  Daisy       ....        Burns.  89 

The  Lamb Blake.  91 

The  Fairies  of  the  Caldon  Low        Mary  Ilowitt.  91 

The  Phantom  Ship         ....      Longfellow.  95 

The  Barefoot  Boy Whittier.  97 

A  Cradle  Song Watts.  101 

The  Land  of  Story  Books      .        .        .    Stevenson.  102 

Aladdin Lowell.  103 

The  Merry  Lark Kingsley.  104 

A  Spring  Lilt Unknown.  104 

Jock  of  Hazeldean Scott.  105 

Canadian  Boat  Song Moore.  106 

Hose  Aylmer Landor.  107 

ROSABELLE Scott.  107 

Rime  of  the  Ancient  Mariner    .        ,      Coleridge.  109 

The  Lass  of  Lochroyan    .        .        .           Unknown.  133 

To  Lucasta,  on  going  to  the  Wars  .        Lovelace.  138 

Bong Shakespeare.  138 


CONTENTS  IX 

To  A  Skylark Shelley.    139 

The  Night  Piece Herrick.    143 

Go,  Lovely  Rose Waller.    144 

Home  Thoughts  from  Abroad     .        .      Browning.    145 
Robin  Redbreast         ....         Allingham.    146 
Elegy  written  in  a  Country  Church- 
yard     Gray.     147 

Bugle  Song Tennyson.    152 

Allen-a-Dale Scott.    153 

Ballad Hood.    154 

The  Last  Leaf Holmes.    155 

Jenny  kissed  Me    .....    Leigh  Hunt.    157 

Dorothy  Q Holmes.    158 

The  Colubrxad Cowper.    160 

Marigold Garnett.    162 

The  Dumb  Soldier        ....         Stevenson.    162 
The  Kjng  of  Denmark's  Ride       .  Caroline  Norton.    164 

Lady  Clare Tennyson.    165 

Fairy  Song Shakespeare.    169 

Lullaby  for  Titania   ....    Shakespeare.    170 
Epitaph  on  the  Countess  of  Pembroke     Jonson.    171 

Song Beddoes.    171 

Annabel  Lee Poe.    172 

The  Shepherd  of  King  Admetus    .        .      Lowell.    173 

The  Sisters Whittier.    175 

The  Discoverer  of  the  North  Cape    Longfellow.    178 
Ode  on  the  Morning  of  Christ's  Na- 
tivity         Milton.    182 

Alexander's  Feast,  or  the  Power  of 

Music Dryden.    191 

La  Belle  Dame  Sans  Mercy        .        .        .     Keats.    196 
The  Wandering  Knight's  Song      .        .   Lockhart.    198 

To  the  Night Shelley.    199 

On  first  looking  into  Chapman's  Ho- 
mer        Keats.    200 

The  Tiger Blake.    201 

HoHENLiNDEN         .....  Campbell.    202 

Song Shakespeare.    203 

The  Rover Scott.    203 

The  Burial  of  Sir  John  Moore  at  Co- 

-ROTmx — T — : — : — : — ~— -- -  --     ^  woife.  204 

Requiem Stevenson,    20G 


CONTENTS 


The  Voice  of  the  Sea  ....  Aldrich. 
The  "  Old,  Old  Song  "  .  .  ,  .  Kingsley. 
The  Battle  of  Agincourt  .        .         Drayton. 

Telling  the  Bees Whittier. 

Daybreak Longfellow. 

The  HtnviBLE-BEE Emerson. 


Indian  Summer 

Twilight     .... 

March       .... 

Alec  Yeaton's  Son 

Annie  Laurie 

The  Ballad  of  Oriana  . 

Barthram's  Dirge 

The  Young  May  Moon    . 

On  a  Favorite  Cat,  drowned  in 

of  Goldfishes 
County  Guy    . 
Night  


Whittier. 

Longfellow. 

Wordsworth. 

Aldrich. 

Unknown. 

Tennyson. 

Surtees. 

.  Moore. 


a  Tub 


Gray. 

Scott. 

Blake. 


207 
207 
207 
212 
214 
215 
217 
218 
219 
220 
222 
223 
226 
228 

229 
230 
231 


Notes 

Index  of  Authors 
Index  of  Titles  . 
Index  of  First  Lines 


233 
237 
239 
241 


A.  BOOK  OF  FAMOUS  YERSE 


HUNTING   SONG 


^c^^^ 


Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay, 
On  the  mountain  dawns  the  day  ; 
All  the  jolly  chase  is  here 
With  hawk  and  horse  and  hunting-spear  ; 
Hounds  are  in  their  couples  yelling, 
Hawks  are  whistling,  horns  are  knelling, 
Merrily,  merrily  mingle  they, 
"  Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay." 

Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay, 
The  mist  has  left  the  mountain  gray, 
Springlets  in  the  dawn  are  steaming, 
Diamonds  on  the  brake  are  gleaming, 
And  foresters  have  busy  been 
To  track  the  buck  in  thicket  green ; 
Now  we  come  to  chant  our  lay, 
"  Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay." 

Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay. 
To  the  greenwood  haste  away  ; 
We  can  show  you  where  he  lies, 
Fleet  of  foot  and  tall  of  size  ; 


THE  SOLITARY  REAPER 

We  can  show  the  marks  he  made 
When  'gainst  the  oak  his  antlers  fray'd ; 
You  shall  see  him  brought  to  bay  ; 
Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay. 

Louder,  louder  chant  the  lay, 

Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay  ! 

Tell  them  youth  and  mirth  and  glee 

Run  a  course  as  well  as  we  ; 

Time,  stern  huntsman !  who  can  balk, 

Stanch  as  hound  and  fleet  as  hawk  ; 

Think  of  this  and  rise  with  day, 

Gentle  lords  and  ladies  gay  ! 

Sir  Walter  Scott. 


THE   SOLITARY  REAPER 


A'  &^ 


Behold  her,  single  in  the  field, 
Yon  solitary  Highland  Lass  ! 
Reaping  and  singing  by  herself ; 
Stop  here,  or  gently  pass ! 
Alone  she  cuts  and  binds  the  grain, 
And  sings  a  melancholy  strain  ; 
Oh  listen  !  for  the  vale  profound 
Is  overflowing  with  the  sound. 

No  nightingale  did  ever  chaunt 
More  welcome  notes  to  weary  bands 
Of  travelers,  in  some  shady  haunt 
Among  Arabian  sands  : 
No  sweeter  voice  was  ever  heard 
in  spring-time  from  the  cuckoo-bird, 


EPITAPH  ON  A  BARE  I 

Breaking  the  silence  of  the  seas 
Among  the  farthest  Hebrides. 

Will  no  one  tell  me  what  she  sings  ? 
Perhaps  the  plaintive  numbers  flow 
For  old,  unhappy,  far-o£E  things, 
And  battles  long  ago  : 
Or  is  it  some  more  humble  lay, 
Familiar  matter  of  to-day  ? 
Some  natural  sorrow,  loss,  or  pain, 
That  has  been,  and  may  be  again  ? 

Whate'er  the  theme,  the  maiden  sang 
As  if  her  song  could  have  no  ending ; 
I  saw  her  singing  at  her  work. 
And  o'er  the  sickle  bending ; 
I  listen 'd  till  I  had  my  fill ; 
And  as  I  mounted  up  the  hill 
The  music  in  my  heart  I  bore 
Long  after  it  was  heard  no  more. 

William  Wordsworth, 


EPITAPH  ON  A  HAKE  i 

Kerb  lies,  whom  hound  did  ne'er  pursue, 
Nor  swifter  greyhound  follow, 

Whose  foot  ne'er  tainted  morning  dew, 
Nor  ear  heard  huntsman's  halloo, 

Old  Tiney,  surliest  of  his  kind. 
Who,  nursed  with  tender  car'" 
1  Note  1. 


EPITAPH   ON  A  HARE 

And  to  domestic  bounds  confined, 
Was  still  a  wild  Jack  hare. 

Though  duly  from  my  hand  he  took 

His  pittance  every  night, 
He  did  it  with  a  jealous  look, 

And,  when  he  could,  would  bite. 

His  diet  was  of  wheaten  bread, 
And  milk,  and  oats,  and  straw  ; 

Thistles,  or  lettuces  instead, 
With  sand  to  scour  his  maw. 

On  twigs  of  hawthorn  he  regaled. 

On  pippins'  russet  peel, 
And,  when  his  juicy  salads  failed. 

Sliced  carrot  pleased  him  well. 

A  Turkey  carpet  was  his  lawn. 
Whereon  he  loved  to  bound, 

To  skip  and  gambol  like  a  fawn, 
And  swing  his  rump  around. 

His  frisking  was  at  evening  hours. 

For  then  he  lost  his  fear. 
But  most  before  approaching  showers, 

Or  when  a  storm  drew  near.  r 

Eight  years  and  five  round  rolKng  moons 

He  thus  saw  steal  away. 
Dozing  out  all  his  idle  noons. 

And  every  night  at  play. 


INFANT  JOY 

I  kept  him  for  his  humor's  sake, 

For  he  would  oft  beguile 
My  heart  of  thoughts  that  made  it  ache, 

And  force  me  to  a  smile. 

But  now  beneath  his  walnut  shade 

He  finds  his  long  last  home, 
And  waits,  in  snug  concealment  laid. 

Till  gentler  Puss  shall  come. 

He,  still  more  aged,  feels  the  shocks 

From  which  no  care  can  save, 
And,  partner  once  of  Tiney's  box, 

Must  soon  partake  his  grave. 

William  Cowper, 


INFANT  JOY 

"  I  HAVE  no  name  ; 
I  am  but  two  days  old." 

—  "  What  shaU  I  caU  thee  ?  " 
—  "I  happy  am ; 

Joy  is  my  name." 

—  Sweet  joy  befall  thee  ! 

Pretty  joy  ! 
Sweet  joy,  but  two  days  old. 
Sweet  joy  I  call  thee  : 

Thou  dost  smile : 

I  sing  the  while. 
Sweet  joy  befall  thee  ! 

William  Blake. 


AT  SEA 


AT  SEA 


CUulaaJ 


A  WET  sheet  and  a  flowing  sea, 

A  wind  that  follows  fast 
And  fills  the  white  and  rustling  sail 

And  bends  the  gallant  mast ; 
And  bends  the  gallant  mast,  my  boys. 

While  like  the  eagle  free 
Away  the  good  ship  flies,  and  leaves 

Old  England  on  the  lee. 

Oh,  for  a  soft  and  gentle  wind  ! 

I  heard  a  fair  one  cry  ; 
But  give  to  me  the  snoring  breeze 

And  white  waves  heaving  high ; 
And  white  waves  heaving  high,  my  lads. 

The  good  ship  tight  and  free  :  — 
The  world  of  waters  is  our  home, 

And  merry  men  are  we. 

There  's  tempest  in  yon  liornbd  moon, 

And  lightning  in  yon  cloud  ; 
But  hark  the  music,  mariners  ! 

The  wind  is  piping  loud ; 
The  wind  is  piping  loud,  my  boys, 

The  lightning  flashes  free,  — 
While  the  hollow  oak  our  palace  is. 

Our  heritage  the  sea. 

Allan  Cunningham, 


LORD    ULLIN'S  DAUGHTER  1 

LORD  ULLIN'S  DAUGHTER    %t^^'7'/-^r>»< 

A  CHIEFTAIN  to  the  Highlands  bound 
Cries,  "  Boatman,  do  not  tarry  ! 
And  I  '11  give  thee  a  silver  pound 
To  row  us  o'er  the  ferry  !  " 

—  "  Now  who  be  ye,  would  cross  Lochgyle, 
This  dark  and  stormy  water  ?  " 

—  "  Oh,  I  'm  the  chief  of  Ulva's  isle, 
And  this.  Lord  Ullin's  daughter. 

"  And  fast  before  her  father's  men 
Three  days  we  've  fled  together. 
For  should  he  find  us  in  the  glen, 
My  blood  would  stain  the  heather. 

**  His  horsemen  hard  behind  us  ride,  — 
Should  they  our  steps  discover, 
Then  who  will  cheer  my  bonny  bride 
When  they  have  slain  her  lover  ?  " 

Out  spoke  the  hardy  Highland  wight, 
*'  I  '11  go,  my  chief,  I  'm  ready  : 
It  is  not  for  your  silver  bright. 
But  for  your  winsome  lady  :  — 

*'  And  by  my  word  !  the  bonny  bird 
In  danger  shall  not  tarry  ; 
So  though  the  waves  are  raging  white, 
I  '11  row  you  o'er  the  ferry." 


8  LORD    ULLIN'S  DAUGUTER 

By  this  the  storm  grew  loud  apace, 
The  water-wraith  was  shrieking  ; 
And  in  the  scowl  of  heaven  each  face 
Grew  dark  as  they  were  speaking. 

But  still  as  wilder  blew  the  wind, 
And  as  the  night  grew  drearer 
Adown  the  glen  rode  armed  men, 
Their  trampling  sounded  nearer. 

"  O  haste  thee,  haste !  "  the  lady  cries, 
Though  tempests  round  us  gather ; 
I  '11  meet  the  raging  of  the  skies. 
But  not  an  angry  father !  " 

The  boat  has  left  a  stormy  land, 

A  stormy  sea  before  her,  — 

When,  oh,  too  strong  for  human  hand ! 

The  tempest  gather'd  o'er  her. 

And  still  they  row'd  amidst  the  roar 
Of  waters  fast  prevailing  : 
Lord  Ullin  reach'd  that  fatal  shore,  — 
His  wrath  was  changed  to  wailing. 

For,  sore  dismay'd,  through  storm  and  shade 
His  child  he  did  discover  :  — 
One  lovely  hand  she  stretch'd  for  aid. 
And  one  was  round  her  lover. 

"  Come  back  !  come  back  !  "  he  cried  in  grief, 
"  Across  this  stormy  water. 


A  BOY'S  SONG  \ 

And  I  '11  forgive  your  Highland  chief  :  — 
My  daughter  !  —  O  my  daughter  !  " 

'Twas  vain :  the  loud  waves  lash'd  the  shore, 

Return  or  aid  preventing  : 

The  waters  wild  went  o'er  his  child, 

And  he  was  left  lamenting. 

Thomas  CampbelL 


A  BOY'S  SONG* 

Where  the  pools  are  bright  and  deep, 
Where  the  gray  trout  lies  asleep, 
Up  the  river  and  o'er  the  lea, 
That 's  the  way  for  Billy  and  me. 

Where  the  blackbird  sings  the  latest, 
Where  the  hawthorn  blooms  the  sweetest, 
Where  the  nestlings  chirp  and  flee. 
That 's  the  way  for  Billy  and  me. 

WTiere  the  mowers  mow  the  cleanest, 
Where  the  hay  lies  thick  and  greenest; 
There  to  trace  the  homeward  bee, 
That 's  the  way  for  Billy  and  me. 

Where  the  hazel  bank  is  steepost, 
Where  the  shadow  falls  the  deepest, 
Where  the  clustering  nuts  fall  free, 
That 's  the  way  for  Billy  and  me. 
iNote  2. 


10  TEE  CHAMBERED  NAUTILUS 

Why  the  boys  should  drive  away 
Little  sweet  maidens  from  the  play, 
Or  love  to  banter  and  fight  so  well, 
That 's  the  thing  I  never  could  tell. 

But  this  I  know,  I  love  to  play, 
Through  the  meadow,  among  the  hay ; 
Up  the  water  and  o'er  the  lea, 
That 's  the  way  for  Billy  and  me. 

James  Hogg^ 

THE  CHAMBERED  NAUTILUS     Ot/U  I* ' 

This  is  the  ship  of  pearl,  which,  poets  feign, 

Sails  the  unshadowed  main,  — 

The  venturous  bark  that  flings 
On  the  sweet  summer  wind  its  purpled  wings 
In  gulfs  enchanted,  where  the  siren  sings. 

And  coral  reefs  lie  bare, 
Where  the  cold  sea-maids  rise  to  sun  their  streaming 
hair. 

Its  webs  of  living  gauze  no  more  unfurl ; 

Wrecked  is  the  ship  of  pearl ! 

And  every  chambered  cell, 
Where  its  dim  dreaming  life  was  wont  to  dwell. 
As  the  frail  tenant  shaped  his  growing  shell, 

Before  thee  lies  revealed,  — 
Its  irised  ceiling  rent,  its  sunless  crypt  imsealed  f 

Year  after  year  beheld  the  silent  toil 
That  spread  his  lustrous  coil; 
Still,  as  the  spiral  grew, 


MY  PLAYMATE  11 

He  left  the  past  year's  dwelling  for  the  new, 
Stole  with  soft  step  its  shining  archway  through, 

Built  up  its  idle  door, 
Stretched  in  his  last-found  home,  and  knew  the  old 


Thanks  for  the  heavenly  message  brought  by  thee, 

Child  of  the  wandering  sea. 

Cast  from  her  lap,  forlorn ! 
From  thy  dead  lips  a  clearer  note  is  born 
Than  ever  Triton  blew  from  wreathed  horn ! 

While  on  mine  ear  it  rings. 
Through  the  deep  caves  of  thought  I  hear  a  voice 
that  sings  :  — 

Build  thee  more  stately  mansions,  O  my  soul, 
As  the  swift  seasons  roll ! 
Leave  thy  low-vaulted  past ! 
Let  each  new  temple,  nobler  than  the  last, 
Shut  thee  from  heaven  with  a  dome  more  vast, 

Till  thou  at  length  art  free, 
Leaving  thine  outgrovra   shell   by  life's   unresting 
sea! 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes. 


MY  PLAYMATE 

The  pines  were  dark  on  Ramoth  hill, 
Their  song  was  soft  and  low  ; 

The  blossoms  in  the  sweet  May  wind 
Were  falling  like  the  snow. 


12  MY  PLAYMATE 

The  blossoms  drifted  at  our  feet, 
The  orchard  birds  sang  clear ; 

The  sweetest  and  the  saddest  day 
It  seemed  of  all  the  year. 

For,  more  to  me  than  birds  or  flowers, 
My  playmate  left  her  home, 

And  took  with  her  the  laughing  spring. 
The  music  and  the  bloom. 

She  kissed  the  lips  of  kith  and  kin, 
She  laid  her  hand  in  mine  : 

What  more  could  ask  the  bashful  boy 
Who  fed  her  father's  kine  ? 

She  left  us  in  the  bloom  of  May : 
The  constant  years  told  o'er 

The  seasons  with  as  sweet  May  morns. 
But  she  came  back  no  more. 

I  walk,  with  noiseless  feet,  the  round 

Of  uneventful  years  ; 
Still  o'er  and  o'er  I  sow  the  spring 

And  reap  the  autumn  ears. 

She  lives  where  all  the  golden  year 

Her  summer  roses  blow ; 
The  dusky  children  of  the  sun 

Before  her  come  and  go. 

There  haply  with  her  jewelled  hands 
She  smooths  her  silken  gown,  — 


MY  PLAYMATE  13 

No  more  the  homespun  lap  wherein 
I  shook  the  wahiuts  down. 

The  wild  grapes  wait  us  by  the  brook, 

The  brown  nuts  on  the  hill, 
And  still  the  May-day  flowers  make  sweet 

The  woods  of  FoUymill. 

The  lilies  blossom  in  the  pond, 

The  bird  builds  in  the  tree, 
The  dark  pines  sing  on  Eamoth  hill 

The  slow  song  of  the  sea. 

I  wonder  if  she  thinks  of  them, 
And  how  the  old  time  seems,  — 

If  ever  the  pines  of  Ramoth  wood 
Are  sounding  in  her  dreams  ! 

I  see  her  face,  I  hear  her  voice  : 

Does  she  remember  mine  ? 
And  what  to  her  is  now  the  boy 

Who  fed  her  father's  kine  ? 

What  cares  she  that  the  orioles  build 

For  other  eyes  than  ours,  — 
That  other  hands  with  nuts  are  filled, 

And  other  laps  with  flowers  ? 

O  playmate  in  the  golden  time  ! 

Our  mossy  seat  is  green, 
Its  fringing  violets  blossom  yet. 

The  old  trees  o'er  it  lean. 


14  YOUNG  LOCH  INVAR 

The  winds  so  sweet  with  birch  and  fern 

A  sweeter  memory  blow  ; 
And  there  in  spring  the  veeries  sing 

The  song  of  long  ago. 

And  still  the  pines  of  Ramoth  wood 

Are  moaning  like  the  sea,  — 
The  moaning  of  the  sea  of  change 

Between  myself  and  thee  ! 

John  Greenleaf  Whitiier. 


YOUNG  LOCHINVAE 

Oh,  young  Lochinvar  is  come  out  of  the  West ! 
Through  all  the  wide  Border  his  steed  is  the  best ; 
A.nd,  save  his  good  broadsword,  he  weapons  had 

none ; 
He  rode  all  unarm'd,  and  he  rode  all  alone. 
So  faithful  in  love,  and  so  dauntless  in  war. 
There  never  was  knight  like  the  young  Lochinvar ! 

He  stay'd  not  for  brake  and   he  stopp'd   not  for 

stone ; 
He  swam  the   Eske  river  where  ford   there   was 

none  ; 
But  ere  he  alighted  at  Netherby  gate. 
The  bride  had  consented  ;  the  gallant  came  late  ; 
For  a  laggard  in  love  and  a  dastard  in  war 
Was  to  wed  the  fair  Ellen  of  brave  Lochinvar. 

So  boldly  he  enter'd  the  Netherby  Hall, 
Among  bridesmen  and  kinsmen  and  brothers  and 
all;  — 


YOUNG  LOCH  INVAR  15 

Then  spoke  the   bride's   father,  his   hand   on   his 

sword, 
For  the  poor  craven  bridegi-oom  said  never  a  word, 
"  Oh,  come  ye  in  peace  here,  or  come  ye  in  war. 
Or  to  dance  at  our  bridal,  young  Lord  Lochinvar  ?  " 

—  "I  long  woo'd  your  daughter,  my  suit  you  de- 
nied ; 
Love  swells  like  the  Solway,  but  ebbs  like  its  tide  ; 
And  now  am  I  come  with  this  lost  Love  of  mine 
To  lead  but  one  measure,  drink  one  cup  of  wine. 
There  are  maidens  in  Scotland  more  lovely  by  far 
That  would  gladly  be  bride  to  the  young  Lochin- 
var ! " 

The  bride  kiss'd  the  goblet,  the  knight  took  it  up, 
He  quafE'd  off  the  wine  and  he  threw  down  the  cup  ; 
She  look'd    down  to  blush,  and  she  look'd  up   to 

sigh. 
With  a  smile  on  her  lips  and  a  tear  in  her  eye  :  — 
He  took  her  soft  hand  ere  her  mother  could  bar  ; 
"  Now  tread  we  a  measure  !  "  said  young  Lochinvar. 

So  stately  his  form,  and  so  lovely  her  face, 
That  never  a  hall  such  a  galliard  did  grace  : 
While  her  mother  did  fret  and  her  father  did  fume. 
And  the  bridegroom  stood  dangling  his  bonnet  and 

plume  ; 
And  the  bride-maidens  whispered,  "  'T  were  better 

by  far 
To   have   match'd    our    fair    cousin  with    young 

Lochinvar  1  " 


16  now  SLEEP   TEE   BRAVE 

One  touch  to  her  hand  and  one  word  in  her  ear, 
When  they  reach'd  the  hall  door,  and  the  charger 

stood  near ; 
So  light  to  the  croupe  the  fair  lady  he  swung, 
So  light  to  the  saddle  before  her  he  sprung  ! 
"  She  is  won  !    we  are  gone,  over  bank,  bush,  and 

scaur, 
They  '11   have   fleet   steeds   that   follow !  "    quoth 

young  Lochinvar. 

There  was  mounting  'mong  Grsemes  of  the  Neth- 
erby  clan ; 

Forsters,  Fenwicks,  and  Musgraves,  they  rode  and 
they  ran ; 

There  was  racing  and  chasing  on  Cannobie  lea ; 

But   the  lost  bride  of   Netherby  ne'er    did   they 
see : — ■- 

So  daring  in  love,  and  so  dauntless  in  war. 

Have  ye  e'er  heard  of    gallant  like  young  Loch- 
invar ? 

Sir  Walter  Scott. 


HOW  SLEEP  THE  BRAVE  C0//4 

How  sleep  the  Brave  who  sink  to  rest 
By  all  their  Country's  wishes  blest ! 
When  Spring,  with  dewy  fingers  cold, 
Returns  to  deck  their  hallow'd  mould, 
She  there  shall  dress  a  sweeter  sod 
Than  Fancy's  feet  have  ever  trod. 


LUCY   GRAY;    OR,   SOLITUDE  17 

By  fairy  hands  their  knell  is  rung, 
By  forms  unseen  their  dirge  is  sung : 
There  Honor  comes,  a  pilgrim  gray, 
To  bless  the  turf  that  wraps  their  clay, 
And  Freedom  shall  awhile  repair 
To  dwell  a  weeping  hermit  there ! 

William  Collins. 

LUCY  GRAY  ;   OR,  SOLITUDE  k/-  U^iU^-^^Co 

Oft  I  had  heard  of  Lucy  Gray : 

And,  when  I  crossed  the  wild, 
I  chanced  to  see  at  break  of  day 

The  solitary  child. 

No  mate,  no  comrade  Lucy  knew ; 

She  dwelt  on  a  wide  moor,  — 
The  sweetest  thing  that  ever  grew 

Beside  a  human  door  ! 

You  yet  may  spy  the  fawn  at  play, 

The  hare  upon  the  green  ; 
But  the  sweet  face  of  Lucy  Gray 

Will  never  more  be  seen. 

«  To-night  will  be  a  stormy  night  — 
You  to  the  town  must  go ; 
And  take  a  lantern,  child,  to  light 
Your  mother  through  the  snow." 

«  That,  father,  will  I  gladly  do  : 
'T  is  scarcely  afternoon  — 


18  LUCY   GRAY;    OR,    SOLITUDE 

The  minster-clock  has  just  struck  two. 
And  yonder  is  the  moon  !  " 

At  this  the  father  raised  his  hook, 

And  snapped  a  fagot-band  ; 
He  phed  his  work  ;  —  and  Lucy  took 

The  lantern  in  her  hand. 

Not  blither  is  the  mountain  roe  : 

With  many  a  wanton  stroke 
Her  feet  disperse  the  powdery  snow, 

That  rises  up  like  smoke. 

The  storm  came  on  before  its  time: 

She  wandered  uj)  and  down, 
And  many  a  hill  did  Lucy  climb, 

But  never  reached  the  town. 

The  wretched  parents  all  that  night 
Went  shouting  far  and  wide  ; 

But  there  was  neither  sound  nor  sight 
To  serve  them  for  a  guide. 

At  daybreak  on  a  hill  they  stood 

That  overlooked  the  moor  ; 
And  thence  they  saw  the  bridge  of  wood, 

A  furlong  from  their  door. 

They  wept  —  and,  turning  homeward,  cried, 
"  In  heaven  we  all  shall  meet !  "  — 

When  in  the  snow  the  mother  spied 
The  print  of  Lucy's  feet. 


THE  WRECK   OF   TEE  HESPERUS  19 

Then  downwards  from  the  steep  hill's  edge 

They  tracked  the  footmarks  small ; 
And  through  the  broken  hawthorn  hedge, 

And  by  the  long  stone  wall ; 

And  then  an  open  field  they  crossed  : 

The  marks  were  still  the  same  ; 
They  tracked  them  on,  nor  ever  lost, 

And  to  the  bridge  they  came. 

They  followed  from  the  snowy  bank 

Those  footmarks,  one  by  one, 
Into  the  middle  of  the  plank  ; 

And  further  there  were  none  !  — 

Yet  some  maintain  that  to  this  day 

She  is  a  living  child  ; 
That  you  may  see  sweet  Lucy  Gray 

Upon  the  lonesome  wild. 

O'er  rough  and  smooth  she  trips  along, 

And  never  looks  behind  ; 
And  sings  a  solitary  song 

That  whistles  in  the  wind. 

William  Wordsworth. 

THE  WRECK  OF  THE  HESPERUS   U^-^^  S^U^ 

It  was  the  schooner  Hesperus, 

That  sailed  the  wintry  sea ; 
And  the  skipper  had  taken  liis  little  daughter, 

To  bear  him  company. 


20  THE   WRECK   OF  THE   nESPEIWS 

Blue  were  her  eyes  as  the  fairy-flax, 
Her  cheeks  hke  the  dawn  of  day, 

And  her  bosom  white  as  the  hawthorn  buds. 
That  ope  in  the  month  of  May. 

The  skipper  he  stood  beside  the  helm, 

His  pipe  was  in  his  mouth, 
And  watched  how  the  veering  flaw  did  blow 

The  smoke  now  west,  now  south. 

Then  up  and  spake  an  old  sailbr, 
Had  sailed  the  Spanish  Main, 
"  I  pray  thee  put  into  yonder  port, 
For  I  fear  a  hurricane. 

"Last  night  the  moon- had  a  golden  ring. 
And  to-night  no  moon  we  see  !  " 
The  skipper  he  blew  a  whiff  from  his  pipe, 
And  a  scornful  laugh  laughed  he. 

Colder  and  louder  blew  the  wind, 

A  gale  from  the  northeast ; 
The  snow  fell  hissing  in  the  brine, 

And  the  billows  frothed  like  yeast. 

Down  came  the  storm,  and  smote  amain 

The  vessel  in  its  strength  ; 
She  shuddered  and  paused,  like  a  frighted  steed, 

Then  leaped  her  cable's  length. 

*'  Come  hither  !  come  hither  !  my  little  daughter, 
And  do  not  tremble  so  ; 


THE  WRECK   OF  THE  HESPERUS  21 

For  I  can  weather  the  roughest  gale 
That  ever  wmd  did  blow." 

He  wrapped  her  warm  in  his  seaman's  coat 

Against  the  stinging  blast ; 
He  cut  a  rope  from  a  broken  spar, 

And  bound  her  to  the  mast. 

"  0  father  !  I  hear  the  church-bells  ring, 

O  say,  what  may  it  be  ?  " 
"  'T  is  a  f og-beU,  on  a  rock-bound  coast !  "  — 

And  he  steered  for  the  open  sea. 

"  O  father  !  I  hear  the  sound  of  guns, 

O  say,  what  may  it  be  ?  " 
*'  Some  ship  in  distress,  that  cannot  live 

In  such  an  angry  sea !  " 

"  0  father  !  I  see  a  gleaming  light, 
O  say,  what  may  it  be  ?  " 
But  the  father  answered  never  a  word, 
A  frozen  corpse  was  he. 

Lashed  to  the  helm,  all  stiff  and  stark, 

With  his  face  turned  to  the  skies, 
The  lantern  gleamed  through  the  gleaming  snow 

On  his  fixed  and  glassy  eyes. 

Then  the  maiden  clasped  her  hands  and  prayed 

That  savfed  she  might  be ; 
And  she  thought  of  Christ,  who  stilled  the  waves 

On  the  Lake  of  Galilee. 


22     THE   WRECK   OF   THE  UESPERUS 

And  fast  through  the  midnight  dark  and  drear. 
Through  the  whistling  sleet  and  snow, 

Like  a  sheeted  ghost,  the  vessel  swept 
Towards  the  reef  of  Norman's  Woe. 

And  ever  the  fitful  gusts  between 

A  sound  came  from  the  land ; 
It  was  the  sound  of  the  trampling  surf, 

On  the  rocks  and  the  hard  sea-sand. 

The  breakers  were  right  beneath  her  bows, 

She  drifted,  a  dreary  wreck, 
And  a  whooping  billow  swept  the  crew 

Like  icicles  from  her  deck. 

She  struck  where  the  white  and  fleecy  waves 

Looked  soft  as  carded  wool, 
But  the  cruel  rocks,  they  gored  her  sides 

Like  the  horns  of  an  angry  bull. 

Her  rattling  shrouds,  all  sheathed  in  ice, 
With  the  masts  went  by  the  board  ; 

Like  a  vessel  of  glass,  she  stove  and  sank, 
Ho  !  ho !  the  breakers  roared  ! 

At  daybreak,  on  the  bleak  sea-beach 

A  fisherman  stood  aghast, 
To  see  the  form  of  a  maiden  fair 

Lashed  close  to  a  drifting  mast. 

The  salt  sea  was  frozen  on  her  breast. 
The  salt  tears  in  her  eyes  ; 


HYMN  TO  DIANA  23 

And  he  saw  her  hair,  like  the  brown  seaweed, 
On  the  billows  fall  and  rise. 

Such  was  the  wreck  o£  the  Hesperus, 

In  the  midnight  and  the  snow  ! 
Christ  save  us  all  from  a  death  Hke  this, 

On  the  reef  of  Norman's  Woe  ! 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow. 


HYMN  TO   DIANA    C^rv^^n^ 

QuEEK  and  Huntress,  chaste  and  fair, 

Now  the  sun  is  laid  to  sleep, 
Seated  in  thy  silver  chair 

State  in  wonted  manner  keep  : 

Hesperus  entreats  thy  light,  . 

Goddess  excellently  bright,     ^--^^-a-a^^e^ 

Earth,  let  not  thy  envious  shade 

Dare  itself  to  interpose  ; 
Cynthia's  shining  orb  was  made 

Heaven  to  clear  when  day  did  close : 
Bless  us  then  with  wished  sight, 
Goddess  excellently  bright. 

Lay  thy  bow  of  pearl  apart 

And  thy  crystal-shining  quiver ; 
Give  unto  the  flying  hart 

Space  to  breathe,  how  short  soever : 
Thou  that  mak'st  a  day  of  night, 
Goddess  excellently  bright ! 

B&n  Jonson. 


SONG  — A  SEA  DIRGE 


SONG 


A  LAKE  and  a  fairy  boat 

To  sail  in  the  moonlight  clear,  — 
And  merrily  we  would  float 

From  the  dragons  that  watch  us  here ! 

Thy  gown  should  be  snow-white  silk, 

And  strings  of  orient  pearls, 
Like  gossamers  dipped  in  milk, 

Should  twine  with  thy  raven  curls. 

Red  rubies  should  deck  thy  hands, 

And  diamonds  should  be  thy  dower  — 

But  fairies  have  broke  their  wands, 
And  wishing  has  lost  its  power  ! 

Thomas  Hood* 


A  SEA  DIRGE  yi^^t^ot  . 

Full  fathom  five  thy  father  lies  : 
Of  his  bones  are  coral  made ; 

Those  are  pearls  that  were  his  eyes : 
Nothing^  of  him  that  doth  fade, 

But  doth  suffer  a  sea-change 

Into  something  rich  and  strange  ; 

Sea-nymphs  hourly  ring  his  knell : 

Hark  !  now  I  hear  them,  — 
Ding,  dong,  bell. 

Shakespeare, 


LULLABY  —  ANNAN  WATER  '25 


LULLABY      'X^.u^^cy  ^rt>^ 

Sweet  and  low,  sweet  and  low, 

Wind  of  the  western  sea, 
Low,  low,  breathe  and  blow, 

Wind  of  the  western  sea ! 
Over  the  rolling  waters  go, 
Come  from  the  dying  moon,  and  blow, 

Blow  him  again  to  me  ; 
While  my  little  one,  while  my  pretty  one,  sleeps. 

Sleep  and  rest,  sleep  and  rest, 

Father  will  come  to  thee  soon  ; 
Rest,  rest,  on  mother's  breast. 

Father  will  come  to  thee  soon  ; 
Father  wiU  come  to  his  babe  in  the  nest, 
Silver  sails  all  out  of  the  west 
Under  the  silver  moon  : 
Sleep,  my  little  one,  sleep,  my  pretty  one,  sleep. 

Alfred  Tennyson. 


ANNAN  WATER 

Annan  Water  's  wading  deep, 

And  my  Love  Annie  's  wondrous  bonny ; 
And  I  am  loath  she  should  wet  her  feet, 

Because  I  love  her  best  of  ony. 

He  's  loupen  on  his  bonny  gray. 

He  rode  the  right  gate  and  the  ready ; 


26  ANNAN  WATER 

For  all  the  storm  he  wadna  stay, 
For  seeking  of  his  bonny  lady. 

And  he  has  ridden  o'er  field  and  fell, 

Through  moor,  and  moss,  and  many  a  mire ; 

His  spurs  of  steel  were  sair  to  bide, 
And  from  her  four  feet  flew  the  fire. 

"  My  bonny  gray,  now  play  your  part ! 

If  ye  be  the  steed  that  wins  my  dearie, 
With  corn  and  hay  ye  '11  be  fed  for  aye. 
And  never  spur  shall  make  you  wearie." 

The  gray  was  a  mare,  and  a  right  gude  mare  •, 
But  when  she  wan  the  Annan  Water, 

She  could  not  have  ridden  the  ford  that  night 
Had  a  thousand  merks  been  wadded  at  hero 

"  0  boatman,  boatman,  put  off  your  boat, 
Put  off  your  boat  for  golden  money  !  " 
But  for  all  the  gold  in  fair  Scotland, 

He  dared  not  take  him  through  to  Annie. 

^  Oh,  I  was  sworn  so  late  yestreen, 
Not  by  a  single  oath,  but  mony ! 
I  '11  cross  the  drumly  stream  to-night, 
Or  never  could  I  face  my  honey." 

The  side  was  stey,  and  the  bottom  deep, 
From  bank  to  brae  the  water  pouring ; 

The  bonny  gray  mare  she  swat  for  fear, 
For  she  heard  the  water-kelpy  roaring. 


THE  SAILOR'S   WIFE  27 

He  spurred  her  forth  into  the  flood, 

I  wot  she  swam  both  strong  and  steady ; 

But  the  stream  was  broad,  and  her  strength  did 
fail, 
And  he  never  saw  his  bonny  lady  ! 


Unk 


nown^ 


THE  SAILOR'S  WIFE 

And  are  ye  sure  the  news  is  true  ? 

And  are  ye  sure  he  's  weel  ? 
Is  this  a  time  to  think  o'  wark  ? 

Ye  jades,  lay  by  your  wheel ; 
Is  this  the  time  to  spin  a  thread, 

When  Colin  's  at  the  door  ? 
Reach  down  my  cloak,  I  '11  to  the  quay, 

And  see  him  come  ashore. 
For  there  's  nae  luck  about  the  house, 

There  's  nae  luck  at  a' ; 
There  's  little  pleasure  in  the  house 

When  our  gudeman  's  awa. 

And  gie  to  me  my  bigonet. 

My  bishop's  satin  gown  ; 
For  I  maun  tell  the  baillie's  wife 

That  Colin  's  in  the  town. 
My  Turkey  slippers  maun  gae  on, 

My  stockins  pearly  blue  ; 
It 's  a'  to  pleasure  our  gudeman. 

For  he  's  baith  leal  and  true. 

Rise,  lass,  and  mak  a  clean  fireside, 
Put  on  the  muckls  pot ; 


28  THE  SAILOR'S  WIFE 

Gie  little  Kate  her  button  gown 

And  Jock  his  Sunday  coat ; 
And  mak  their  shoon  as  black  as  slaes^ 

Their  hose  as  white  as  snaw ; 
It 's  a'  to  please  my  ain  gudeman, 

For  he  's  been  long  awa. 

There 's  twa  fat  hens  upo'  the  coop 

Been  fed  this  month  and  mair ; 
Mak  haste  and  thraw  their  necks  about, 

That  Colin  weel  may  fare  ; 
And  spread  the  table  neat  and  clean, 

Gar  ilka  thing  look  braw, 
For  wha  can  tell  how  Colin  fared 

When  he  was  far  awa  ? 

Sae  true  his  heart,  sae  smooth  his  speechj 

His  breath  like  caller  air  ; 
His  very  foot  has  music  in 't 

As  he  comes  up  the  stair  — 
And  will  I  see  his  face  again  ? 

And  will  I  hear  him  speak  ? 
I  'm  downright  dizzy  wi'  the  thought. 

In  troth  I  'm  like  to  greet ! 

If  Colin  's  weel,  and  weel  content, 

I  hae  nae  mair  to  crave  : 
And  gin  I  live  to  keep  him  sae, 

I  'm  blest  aboon  the  lave  : 
And  will  I  see  his  face  again, 

And  will  I  hear  him  speak  ? 
I  'm  downright  dizzy  wi'  the  thought, 

In  troth  I  'm  like  to  greet. 


THE  BLIND  BOY  29 

For  there 's  nae  luck  about  the  house, 

There  's  nae  luck  at  a' ; 
There  's  little  pleasure  in  the  house 

When  our  gudeman  's  awa. 

WiUiam  Julius  MickU 


THE  BLIND  BOY 

Oh,  say  what  is  that  thing  called  Light, 

Which  I  must  ne'er  enjoy  ; 
What  are  the  blessings  of  the  Sight : 

Oh,  tell  your  poor  blind  boy  ! 

You  talk  of  wondrous  things  you  see  | 
You  say  the  sun  shines  bright ; 

I  feel  him  warm,  but  how  can  he 
Or  make  it  day  or  night  ? 

My  day  or  night  myself  I  make 

Whene'er  I  sleep  or  play  ; 
And  could  I  ever  keep  awake 

With  me  't  were  always  day. 

With  heavy  sighs  I  often  hear 

You  mourn  my  hapless  woe ; 
But  sure  with  patience  I  can  bear 

A  loss  I  ne'er  can  know. 

Then  let  not  what  I  cannot  have 

My  cheer  of  mind  destroy  : 
Whilst  thus  I  sing,  I  am  a  king, 

Although  a  poor  blind  boy. 

Colley  Cibber. 


30        THE  NIGHTINGALE  IN  THE  STUDY 


THE    NIGHTINGALE  IN  THE  STUD^i 

"  Come  forth  !  "  my  catbird  calls  to  me, 
"  And  hear  me  sing  a  cavatina 
That,  in  tliis  old  familiar  tree, 
Shall  hang  a  garden  of  Alcina. 

"  These  buttercups  shall  brim  with  wine 
Beyond  all  Lesbian  juice  or  Massic ; 
May  not  New  England  be  divine  ? 
My  ode  to  ripening  summer  classic  ? 

"  Or,  if  to  me  you  will  not  hark. 

By  Beaver  Brook  a  thrush  is  ringing, 
Till  all  the  alder-coverts  dark 

Seem  sunshine-dappled  with  his  singing. 

"  Come  out  beneath  the  unmastered  sky. 
With  its  emancipating  spaces, 
And  learn  to  sing  as  well  as  I, 
Without  premeditated  graces. 

"  What  boot  your  many-voluraed  gains, 
Those  withered  leaves  forever  turning. 
To  win,  at  best,  for  all  your  pains, 
A  nature  mummy-wrapt  in  learning  ? 

"  The  leaves  wherein  true  wisdom  lies 
On  living  trees  the  sun  are  drinking ; 
Those  white  clouds,  drowsing  through  the  skies, 
Grew  not  so  beautiful  by  thinking. 


TEE  NIGHTINGALE  IN  THE  STUDY        31 

"  Come  out !  with  me  the  oriole  cries, 
Escape  the  demon  that  pursues  you ! 
And,  hark,  the  cuckoo  weatherwise. 

Still  hiding  farther  onward,  woos  you." 

"  Alas,  dear  friend,  that,  all  my  days, 
Has  poured  from  thy  syringa  thicket 
The  quaintly  discontinuous  lays 

To  which  I  hold  a  season-ticket,  — 

"  A  season-ticket  cheaply  bought 

With  a  dessert  of  pilfered  berries, 
And  who  so  oft  my  soul  has  caught 
With  morn  and  evening  voluntaries,  — 

"  Deem  me  not  faithless,  if  all  day 
Among  my  dusty  books  I  linger, 
No  pipe,  like  thee,  for  June  to  play 
With  fancy-led,  half -conscious  finger. 

"  A  bird  is  singing  in  my  brain 

And  bubbling  o'er  with  mingled  fancies. 
Gay,  tragic,  rapt,  right  heart  of  Spain 
Fed  with  the  sap  of  old  romances. 

"  I  ask  no  ampler  skies  than  those 
His  magic  music  rears  above  me, 
No  falser  friends,  no  truer  foes,  — 
And  does  not  Dona  Clara  love  me  ? 

"  Cloaked  shapes,  a  twanging  of  guitars, 
A  rush  of  feet,  and  rapiers  clashing, 


32  THE  FAIRIES 

Then  silence  deep  with  breathless  stars, 
And  overhead  a  white  hand  flashing. 

*'  0  music  of  all  moods  and  climes, 

Vengeful,  forgiving,  sensuous,  saintly, 

Where  still,  between  the  Christian  chimes, 

The  Moorish  cymbal  tinkles  faintly ! 

*'  0  life  borne  lightly  in  the  hand, 

For  friend  or  foe  with  grace  Castilian ! 
O  valley  safe  in  Fancy's  land, 

Not  tramped  to  mud  yet  by  the  million ! 

*'  Bird  of  to-day,  thy  songs  are  stale 
To  his,  my  singer  of  all  weathers, 
My  Calderon,  my  nightingale, 

My  Arab  soul  in  Spanish  feathers. 

^  Ah,  friend,  these  singers  dead  so  long, 
And  still,  God  knows,  in  purgatory, 
Give  its  best  sweetness  to  all  song. 
To  Nature's  self  her  better  glory." 

James  Russell  Lowell, 


THE  FAIRIES 

Up  the  airy  mountain, 
Down  the  rushy  glen, 

We  dare  n't  go  a-hunting 
For  fear  of  little  men  ; 

Wee  folk,  good  folk. 
Trooping  all  together ; 


THE  FAIRIES  33 

Green  jacket,  red  cap, 
And  white  owl's  feather  I 

Down  along  the  rocky  shore 

Some  make  their  home  : 
They  live  on  crispy  pancakes 

Of  yellow  tide-foam ; 
Some  in  the  reeds 

Of  the  black  mountain  lake, 
With  frogs  for  their  watch-dogs, 

AH  night  awake. 

High  on  the  hilltop 

The  old  King  sits  ; 
He  is  now  so  old  and  gray, 

He 's  nigh  lost  his  wits. 
With  a  bridge  of  white  mist 

Columbkill  he  crosses, 
On  his  stately  journeys 
From  Slieveleague  to  Rosses  ; 
Or  going  up  with  music 

On  cold  starry  nights, 
To  sup  with  the  queen 

Of  the  gay  Northern  Lights. 

They  stole  little  Bridget 

For  seven  years  long  ; 
When  she  came  down  again. 

Her  friends  were  all  gone. 

They  took  her  lightly  back. 

Between  the  night  and  morrow ; 


84  THE  FAIRIES 

They  thought  that  she  was  fast  asleep, 
But  she  was  dead  with  sorrow. 

They  have  kept  her  ever  since 
Deep  within  the  lakes, 

On  a  bed  of  flag-leaves, 
Watching  till  she  wakes. 

By  the  craggy  hillside, 

Through  the  mosses  bare, 
They  have  planted  thorn-trees 

For  pleasure  here  and  there. 
Is  any  man  so  daring 

As  dig  them  up  in  spite, 
He  shall  find  their  sharpest  thorns 

In  his  bed  at  night. 

Up  the  airy  mountain, 

Down  the  rushy  glen, 
We  dare  n't  go  a-hunting 

For  fear  of  little  men  ; 
Wee  folk,  good  folk. 

Trooping  all  together ; 
Green  jacket,  red  cap, 

And  white  owl's  feather ! 

William  Allinghartu 


AULD  ROBIN  GRAY  35 


AULD  ROBIN  GRAY  i 

When  the  sheep  are  in  the  fauld,  and  the  kye  at 

hame, 
And  a'  the  warld  to  rest  are  gaue, 
The  waes  o'  my  heart  fa'  in  showers  frae  my  e'e, 
While  my  gudeman  lies  sound  by  me. 

Young  Jamie  lo'ed  me  weel,  and  sought  me  for  his 

bride ; 
But  saving  a  croun  he  had  naetliing  else  beside : 
To  make  the  croun  a  pund,  young  Jamie  gaed  to 

sea ; 
And  the  croun  and  the  pund  were  baith  for  me. 

He  hadna  been  awa'  a  week  but  only  twa, 

When  my  father  brak  his  arm,  and  the  cow  was 

stown  awa' ; 
My  mother  she  fell  sick,  and  my  Jamie  at  the 

sea  — 
And  auld  Robin  Gray  came  a-courtin'  me. 

My  father  couldna  work,  and  my  mother  couldna 

spin ; 
I  toiled  day  and  night,  but  their  bread  I  couldna 

win  ; 
Auld  Rob  maintained  them  baith,  and  wi'  tears  in 

his  e'e 
Said,  "  Jennie,  for  their  sakes,  oh,  marry  me  !  " 
'  Note  3. 


36  AULD  ROBIN  GRAY 

My  heart  it  said  nay  ;  I  looked  for  Jamie  back  ; 
But  the  wind  it  blew  high,  and  the  ship  it  was  a 

wrack, 
His  ship  it  was  a  wrack  —  why  didna  Jamie  dee, 
Or  why  do  I  live  to  cry,  Wae  's  me  ? 

My  father  urgit  sair  :  my  mother  didna  speak ; 
But  she  looked  in  my  face  tUl  my  heart  was  like  to 

break  : 
They  gi'ed  him  my  hand,  but  my  heart  was  at  the 

sea : 
Sae  auld  Robin  Gray  he  was  gudeman  to  me. 

I  hadna  been  a  wife  a  week  but  only  four, 
When  mournfu'  as  I  sat  on  the  stane  at  the  door, 
I  saw  my  Jamie's  wraith,  for  I  couldna  think  it 

he  — 
Till  he  said,  "  I  'm  come  hame  to  marry  thee." 

Oh,  sair,  sair  did  we  greet,  and  muckle  did  we 

say; 
We  took  but  ae  kiss,  and  I  bad  him  gang  away  : 
I  wish  that  I  were  dead,  but  I  'm  no  like  to  dee  ; 
And  why  was  I  born  to  say,  Wae 's  me ! 

I  gang  like  a  ghaist,  and  I  carena  to  spin ; 
I  daurna  think  on  Jamie,  for  that  waud  be  a  sin ; 
But  I  '11  do  my  best  a  gude  wife  aye  to  be, 
For  auld  Robin  Gray  he  is  kind  unto  me. 

Lady  Anne  Lindsay. 


JEAN— TO  A   WATERFOWL  37 


JEAN 

Of  a'  the  airts  the  wind  can  bla'w, 

I  dearly  like  the  west, 
Foi-  there  the  bonnie  lassie  lives, 

The  lassie  I  lo'e  best : 
There  wild  woods  grow  and  rivers  row. 

And  monie  a  hUl  between  ; 
But  day  and  night  my  fancy's  flight 

Is  ever  wi'  my  Jean. 

I  see  her  in  the  dewy  flowers, 

I  see  her  sweet  and  fair  ; 
I  hear  her  in  the  tunefu'  birds, 

I  hear  her  charm  the  air : 
There  's  not  a  bonnie  flower  that  springs 

By  fountain,  shaw,  or  green  ; 
There  's  not  a  bonnie  bird  that  sings. 

But  minds  me  o'  my  Jean. 

Robert  Burns. 

TO   A  WATERFOWL  (/u'Cy    ^K^^^^^^ 

Whither,  'midst  falling  (!^q\j, 
While  glow  the  heavens  with  the  last  steps  of  day 
Far  through  their  rosy  depths,  dost  thou  pursue 

Thy  solitary  way  ? 

Vainly  the  fowler's  eye 
Might  mark  thy  distant  flight  to  do  thee  wrong, 
As,  darkly  painted  on  the  crimson  sky, 

Thy  figure  floats  along. 


fSfi95fi 


38  TO  A  WATERFOWL 

Seek'st  thou  the  plashy  brink 
Of  weedy  lake,  or  marge  of  river  wide, 
Or  where  the  rocking  billows  rise  and  sink 

On  the  chafed  ocean  side  ? 

There  is  a  Power  whose  care 
Teaches  thy  way  along  that  pathless  coast,  — « 
The  desert  and  iUiniitable  air,  — 

Lone  wandering,  but  not  lost. 

All  day  thy  wings  have  fanned, 
At  that  far  height,  the  cold,  thin  atmosphere ; 
Yet  stoop  not,  weary,  to  the  welcome  land, 

Though  the  dark  night  is  near. 

And  soon  that  toil  shall  end  ; 
Boon  shalt  thou  find  a  summer  home,  and  rest 
And  scream  among  thy  fellows ;  reeds  shall  bend 

Soon  o'er  thy  sheltered  nest. 

Thou  'rt  gone,  —  the  abyss  of  heaven 
Hath  swallowed  up  thy  form,  —  yet  on  my  heart 
Deeply  hath  sunk  the  lesson  thou  hast  given, 

And  shall  not  soon  depart. 

He  who  from  zone  to  zone 
Guides  through  the  boundless  sky  thy  certain  flight; 
In  the  long  way  that  I  must  tread  alone 

Will  lead  my  steps  aright. 

William  Cullen  Bryant. 


BAILORS'  SONG— CARCASSONNE  39 


SAILORS'  SONG 

To  sea,  to  sea  !     The  calm  is  o'er ; 

The  wanton  water  leaps  in  sport, 
And  rattles  down  the  pebbly  shore  ; 

The  dolphin  wheels,  the  sea-cows  snort; 
And  unseen  mermaids'  pearly  song 

Comes  bubbling  up,  the  weeds  among. 
Fling  broad  the  sail,  dip  deep  the  oar : 

To  sea,  to  sea  !  the  calm  is  o'er. 

To  sea,  to  sea  !  our  wide-winged  bark 
Shall  billowy  cleave  its  sunny  way, 
And  with  its  shadow,  fleet  and  dark. 

Break  the  caved  Tritons'  azure  day, 
Like  mighty  eagle  soaring  light 
O'er  antelopes  on  Alpine  height. 

The  anchor  heaves,  the  ship  swings  free 
The  sails  swell  full.     To  sea,  to  sea ! 

Thomas  Lovell  Beddoes, 

CARCASSONNE 

I  'm  growing  old,  I  've  sixty  years  ; 

I  've  labored  all  my  life  in  vain  : 

In  all  that  time  of  hopes  and  fears 

I  've  failed  my  dearest  wish  to  gain. 

I  see  full  well  that  here  below 

BUss  unalloyed  there  is  for  none, 

My  prayer  will  ne'er  fulfillment  knovr,  — 

I  never  have  seen  Carcassonne, 

I  never  have  seen  Carcassonne. 


40  CARCASSONNE 

You  see  the  city  from  the  hill, 

It  lies  beyond  the  mountains  blue ; 

And  yet  to  reach  it  one  must  still 

Five  long  and  weary  leagues  pursue,  —n* 

And,  to  return,  as  many  more. 

Ah  !  had  the  vintage  plenteous  grown  I 

The  grape  withheld  its  yellow  store  : 

I  shall  not  look  on  Carcassonne, 

I  shall  not  look  on  Carcassonne. 

They  tell  me  every  day  is  there 
No  more  nor  less  than  Sunday  gay; 
In  shining  jewels  and  garments  fair 
The  people  walk  upon  their  way. 
One  gazes  there  on  castle  walls 
As  grand  as  those  of  Bal)ylon, 
A  bishop,  and  two  generals : 
I  do  not  know  fair  Carcassonne, 
I  do  not  know  fair  Carcassonne. 

The  cur^  's  right ;  he  says  that  we 
Are  ever  wayward,  weak,  and  blind  i 
He  tells  us  in  his  homily 
Ambition  ruins  all  mankind. 
Yet  could  I  there  two  days  have  spenta 
While  still  the  autumn  sweetly  shone, 
Ah  me  !  I  might  have  died  content 
When  I  had  looked  on  Carcassonne, 
When  I  had  looked  on  Carcassonne. 

Thy  pardon,  father,  I  beseech, 
In  this  my  prayer  if  I  offend; 


CHOOSING  A  NAME  41 

One  sometimes  sees  beyond  his  reach, 
From  childhood  to  his  journey's  end. 
My  wife,  our  little  boy,  Aignan, 
Have  traveled  even  to  Narbonne  ; 
My  grandchild  has  seen  Perpignan, 
And  I  have  not  seen  Carcassonne, 
And  I  have  not  seen  Carcassonne. 

So  crooned,  one  day,  close  by  Limoux, 
A  peasant,  double  bent  with  age. 
'  Rise  up,  my  friend,"  said  I ;   "  with  you 
I  '11  go  upon  this  pilgrimage." 
We  left  next  morning  his  abode, 
But  (Heaven  forgive  me  !)  half  way  on 
The  old  man  died  upon  the  road ; 
He  never  gazed  on  Carcassonne. 
Each  mortal  has  his  Carcassonne. 

From  the  French  of  Gustave  Nadaud 

CHOOSING  A  NAME 

I  HAVE  got  a  new-born  sister ; 

I  was  nigh  the  fii*st  that  kissed  her. 

When  the  nursing-woman  brought  her 

To  Papa,  his  infant  daughter, 

How  Papa's  dear  eyes  did  glisten !  — 

She  will  shortly  be  to  christen  ; 

And  Papa  has  made  the  offer 

I  shall  have  the  naming  of  her. 

Now  I  wonder  what  would  please  her,  — 
Charlotte,  Julia,  or  Louisa  ? 


42  ABRAHAM  DAVENPORT 

Ann  and  Mary,  they  're  too  common  5 

Joan  "  s  too  formal  for  a  woman  ; 

Jane  's  a  prettier  name  beside, 

But  we  had  a  Jane  that  died. 

They  would  say,  if  't  was  Rebecca, 

That  she  was  a  little  Quaker. 

Edith  's  pretty,  but  that  looks 

Better  in  old  English  books  ; 

Ellen  's  left  off  long  ago  ; 

Blanche  is  out  of  fashion  now. 

None  that  I  have  named  as  yet 

Are  so  good  as  Margaret. 

Emily  is  neat  and  fine  ; 

What  do  you  think  of  Caroline  ? 

How  I  'm  puzzled  and  perplexed 

What  to  choose  or  tliink  of  next ! 

I  am  in  a  little  fever 

Lest  the  name  that  I  should  give  her 

Should  disgrace  her  or  defame  her ;  — 

I  will  leave  Papa  to  name  her. 

Mary  Lamb, 

ABRAHAM  DAVENPORT 

In  the  old  days  (a  custom  laid  aside 

With  breeches  and  cocked  hats)  the  people  sent 

Their  wisest  men  to  make  the  public  laws. 

And  so,  from  a  brown  homestead,  where  the  Sound 

Drinks  the  small  tribute  of  the  Mianas, 

Waved  over  by  the  woods  of  Rippowams, 

And  hallowed  by  pure  lives  and  tranquil  deaths, 

Stamford  sent  up  to  the  councils  of  the  State 

Wisdom  and  grace  in  Abraham  Davenport. 


ABRAItAM  DAVENPORT  43 

'T  was  on  a  May-day  of  the  far  old  year 
Seventeen  hundred  eighty,  that  there  fell 
Over  the  bloom  and  sweet  life  of  the  spring, 
Over  the  fresh  earth  and  the  heaven  of  noon, 
A  horror  of  great  darkness,  like  the  night 
In  day  of  which  the  Norland  sagas  tell,  — 
The  Twilight  of  the  Gods.     The  low-hung  sky 
Was  black  with  ominous  clouds,  save  where  its  rim 
Was   fringed  with   a   dull  glow,   like  that  which 

climbs 
The  crater's  sides  from  the  red  hell  below. 
Birds  ceased  to  sing,  and  all  the  barn-yard  fowls 
Roosted  ;  the  cattle  at  the  pasture  bars 
Lowed,   and  looked  homeward ;  bats   on  leathern 

wings 
Flitted  abroad  ;  the  sounds  of  labor  died  ; 
Men  prayed,  and  women  wept ;  all  ears  grew  sharp 
To  hear  the  doom-blast  of  the  trumpet  shatter 
The  black  sky,  that  the  dreadful  face  of  Christ 
Might  look  from  the  rent  clouds,  not  as  He  looked 
A  loving  guest  at  Bethany,  but  stern 
As  Justice  and  inexorable  Law. 

Meanwhile  in  the  old  State  House,  dim  as  ghosts 
Sat  the  lawgivers  of  Connecticut, 
Trembling  beneath  their  legislative  robes. 
"  It  is  the  Lord's  Great  Day  !     Let  us  adjourn," 
Some  said ;  and  then,  as  if  with  one  accord, 
All  eyes  were  turned  to  Abraham  Davenport. 
He  rose,  slow  cleaving  with  his  steady  voice 
The  intolerable  hush.     "  This  well  may  be 
The  Day  of  Judgment  which  the  world  awaits ; 


44  ABRAHAM  DAVENPORT 

Bat  be  it  so  or  not,  I  only  know 

My  present  duty,  and  my  Lord's  command 

To  occupy  till  He  come.     So  at  the  post 

Where  He  hath  set  me  in  his  providence, 

I  choose,  for  one,  to  meet  Him  face  to  face,  — 

No  faithless  servant  frightened  from  my  task. 

But  ready  when  the  Lord  of  the  harvest  calls  ; 

And  therefore,  with  all  reverence,  I  would  say, 

Let  God  do  his  work,  we  wiU  see  to  ours : 

Bring  in  the  candles."    And  they  brought  them  in, 

Then  by  the  flaring  lights  the  Speaker  read, 
Albeit  with  husky  voice  and  shaking  hands, 
An  act  to  amend  an  act  to  regulate 
The  shad  and  alewive  fisheries.     Whereupon 
Wisely  and  well  spake  Abraham  Davenport, 
Straight  to  the  question,  with  no  figures  of  speech 
Save  the  ten  Arab  signs,  yet  not  without 
The  shrewd  dry  humor  natural  to  the  man : 
His  awestruck  colleagues  listening  all  the  while, 
Between  the  pauses  of  his  argument. 
To  hear  the  thunder  of  the  wrath  of  God 
Break  from  the  hollow  trumpet  of  the  cloud. 

And  there  he  stands  in  memory  to  this  day, 
Erect,  self-poised,  a  rugged  face,  half  seen 
Against  the  background  of  unnatural  dark, 
A  witness  to  the  ages  as  they  pass. 
That  simple  duty  hath  no  place  for  fear. 

John  Greenleaf  Whittter. 


SIR   MARMADUKE  45 


SIR    MARMADUKE 

Sir  MARMADUKE  was  a  hearty  knight  5 

Good  man !  old  man  ! 
He  's  painted  standing  bolt  upright, 

With  his  hose  rolled  over  his  knee ; 
His  periwig  's  as  white  as  chalk, 
And  on  his  fist  he  holds  a  hawk, 
And  he  looks  like  the  head 

Of  an  ancient  family. 

His  dining-room  was  long  and  wide, 

Good  man  !  old  man  ! 
His  spaniels  lay  by  the  fireside  ; 

And  in  other  parts,  d'  ye  see 
Crossbows,  tobacco-pipes,  old  hats, 
A  saddle,  his  wife,  and  a  litter  of  cats ; 
And  he  looks  like  the  head 

Of  an  ancient  family. 

He  never  turned  the  poor  from  his  gate, 

Good  man  !  old  man  ! 
But  was  always  ready  to  break  the  pate 

Of  his  country's  enemy. 
What  knight  could  do  a  better  thing 
Than  serve  the  poor,  and  fight  for  his  king  ? 
And  so  may  every  head 

Of  an  ancient  family  ! 

XJnlcnown. 


46  THE  NORTHERN  STAR 

THE   NORTHERN    STAR 

A    Tynemouth  Ship 

The  Northern  Star 

Sail'd  over  the  bar 
Bound  to  the  Baltic  Sea ; 

In  the  morning  gray 

She  stretch'd  away  :  — 
'T  was  a  weary  day  to  me ! 

For  many  an  hour 

In  sleet  and  shower 
By  the  hghthouse  rock  I  stray  | 

And  watch  till  dark 

For  the  winged  bark 
Of  him  that  is  far  away. 

The  castle's  bound 

I  wander  round, 
Amidst  the  grassy  graves : 

But  all  I  hear 

Is  the  north  wind  drear, 
And  all  I  see  are  the  waves. 

The  Northern  Star 

Is  set  afar ! 
Set  in  the  Baltic  Sea  : 

And  the  waves  have  spread 

The  sandy  bed 
That  holds  my  Love  from  me. 

Unknoion. 


SONG   OF  MARION'S  MEN  47 


«  LIKE  CRUSOE,  WALKING  BY  THE  LONELY 

STRAND  » 

Like  Crusoe,  walking  by  the  lonely  strand 
And  seeing  a  human  footprint  on  the  sand, 
Have  I  this  day  been  startled,  finding  here, 
Set  in  brown  mould  and  delicately  clear, 
Spring's  footprint  —  the  first  crocus  of  the  year ! 
O  sweet  invasion  !     Farewell,  solitude  ! 
Soon  shall  wild  creatures  of  the  field  and  wood 
Flock  from  all  sides  with  much  ado  and  stir, 
And  make  of  me  most  willing  prisoner  ! 

Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich, 


SONG  OF  MARION'S  MENi 

Our  band  is  few,  but  true  and  tried, 

Our  leader  frank  and  bold  ; 
The  British  soldier  trembles 

When  Marion's  name  is  told. 
Our  fortress  is  the  good  greenwood, 

Our  tent  the  cypress-tree  ; 
We  know  the  forest  round  us, 

As  seamen  know  the  sea. 
We  know  its  walls  of  thorny  vines, 

Its  glades  of  reedy  grass, 
Its  safe  and  silent  islands 

Within  the  dark  morass. 

Woe  to  the  English  soldiery, 
That  little  dread  us  near ! 

1  Note  4. 


48  SONG   OF  MARION'S  MEN 

On  them  shall  light  at  midnight 

A  strange  and  sudden  fear : 
When,  waking  to  their  tents  on  fire, 

They  grasp  their  arms  in  vain, 
And  they  who  stand  to  face  us 

Are  beat  to  earth  again. 
And  they  who  fly  in  terror  deem 

A  mighty  host  behind, 
And  hear  the  tramp  of  thousands 

Upon  the  hollow  wind. 

Then  sweet  the  hour  that  brings  release 

From  danger  and  from  toil ; 
We  talk  the  battle  over, 

We  share  the  battle's  spoil. 
The  woodland  rings  with  laugh  and  shout, 

As  if  a  hunt  were  up, 
And  woodland  flowers  are  gathered 

To  crown  the  soldier's  cup. 
With  merry  songs  we  mock  the  wind 

That  in  the  pine-top  grieves, 
And  slumber  long  and  sweetly 

On  beds  of  oaken  leaves. 

Well  knows  the  fair  and  friendly  moon 

The  band  that  Marion  leads. 
The  glitter  of  their  rifles. 

The  scampering  of  their  steeds. 
'T  is  life  to  guide  the  fiery  barb 

Across  the  moonlit  plain  ; 
'T  is  life  to  feel  the  night-wind 

That  lifts  his  tossing  mane, 


THE  VILLAGE  BLACKSMITH  49 

A  moment  in  the  British  camp  — 

A  moment  —  and  away 
Back  to  the  pathless  forest, 

Before  the  peep  of  day. 

Grave  men  there  are  by  broad  SanteCj 

Grave  men  with  hoary  hairs, 
Their  hearts  are  all  with  Marion, 

For  Marion  are  their  prayers. 
And  lovely  ladies  greet  our  band 

With  kindliest  welcoming, 
With  smiles  like  those  of  summer, 

And  tears  like  those  of  spring. 
For  them  we  wear  these  trusty  arms, 

And  lay  them  down  no  more 
Till  we  have  driven  the  Briton 

Forever  from  our  shore. 

William  Cullen  Bryant 

THE  VILLAGE  BLACKSMITH   ^Tv^/^^'*' 

Under  a  spreading  chestnut  tree 

The  village  smithy  stands  ; 
The  smith,  a  mighty  man  is  he, 

With  large  and  sinewy  hands ; 
And  the  muscles  of  his  brawny  arms 

Are  strong  as  iron  bands. 

His  hair  is  crisp,  and  black,  and  long, 

His  face  is  like  the  tan ; 
His  brow  is  wet  with  honest  sweat. 

He  earns  whate'er  he  can, 


60  THE  VILLAGE  BLACKSMITH 

And  looks  the  whole  world  in  the  face, 
For  he  owes  not  any  man. 

Week  in,  week  out,  from  morn  till  night, 
You  can  hear  his  bellows  blow  ; 

You  can  hear  him  swing  his  heavy  sledge. 
With  measured  beat  and  slow, 

Like  a  sexton  ringing  the  village  bell, 
When  the  evening  sun  is  low. 

And  children  coming  home  from  school 

Look  in  at  the  open  door  ; 
They  love  to  see  the  flaming  forge, 

And  hear  the  bellows  roar, 
And  catch  the  burning  sparks  that  fly 

Like  chaff  from  a  threshing-floor. 

He  goes  on  Sunday  to  the  church, 

And  sits  among  his  boys  ; 
He  hears  the  parson  pray  and  preach, 

He  hears  his  daughter's  voice 
Singing  in  the  village  choir, 

And  it  makes  his  heart  rejoice. 

It  sounds  to  him  like  her  mother's  voice 

Singing  in  Paradise  ! 
He  needs  must  think  of  her  once  more. 

How  in  the  grave  she  lies  ; 
And  with  his  hard,  rough  hand  he  wipes 

A  tear  out  of  liis  eyes. 

Toiling,  —  rejoicing,  —  sorrowing. 
Onward  through  life  he  goes  ; 


ROBERT   OF  LINCOLN  51 

Each  morning  sees  some  task  begin, 

Each  evening  sees  it  close  ; 
Something  attempted,  something  done, 

Has  earned  a  night's  repose. 

Thanks,  thanks  to  thee,  my  worthy  friend, 

For  the  lesson  thou  hast  taught ! 
Thus  at  the  flaming  forge  of  life 

Our  fortunes  must  be  wrought ; 
Thus  on  its  sounding  anvil  shaped 

Each  burning  deed  and  thought ! 

Henry  Wadsworth  LongfeUoj/k 

ROBERT  OF  LINCOLN  U.i/      (  '  ^^(xj^ 

Merrily  swinging  on  brier  and  weed, 
Near  to  the  nest  of  his  little  dame, 
Over  the  mountain-side  or  mead, 

Robert  of  Lincoln  is  telling  his  name; 
Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink ; 
Snug  and  safe  is  that  nest  of  ours. 
Hidden  among  the  summer  flowers. 
Chee,  chee,  chee. 

Robert  o£  Lincoln  is  gaily  drest. 

Wearing  a  bright  black  wedding-coat ; 
White  are  his  shoulders  and  white  his  crest. 
Hear  him  call  in  his  merry  note  : 
Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink ; 
Look,  what  a  nice  new  coat  is  mine, 


52  ROBERT  OF  LINCOLN 

Sure  there  was  never  a  bird  so  fine. 
Chee,  chee,  chee. 

Robert  of  Lincoln's  Quaker  wife, 

Pretty  and  quiet,  with  plain  brown  wings, 
Passing  at  home  a  patient  Hf  e, 

Broods  in  the  grass  while  her  husband  sings  i 
Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink ; 
Brood,  kind  creature ;  you  need  not  fear 
Thieves  and  robbers  while  I  am  here. 
Chee,  chee,  chee. 

Modest  and  shy  as  a  nun  is  she ; 

One  weak  chirp  is  her  only  note. 
Braggart  and  prince  of  braggarts  is  he, 
Pouring  boasts  from  his  little  throat : 
Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink ; 
Never  was  I  afraid  of  man  ; 
Catch  me,  cowardly  knaves,  if  you  can  \ 
Chee,  chee,  chee. 

Six  white  eggs  on  a  bed  of  hay. 

Flecked  with  purple,  a  pretty  sight ! 
There,  as  the  mother  sits  all  day, 
Robert  is  singing  with  all  his  might: 
Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink  ; 
Nice  good  wife,  that  never  goes  out, 
Keeping  house  while  I  frolic  about. 
Chee,  chee,  chee. 


ROBERT   OF  LINCOLN  53 

Soon  as  the  little  ones  chip  the  shell, 

Six  wide  mouths  are  open  for  food  ; 
Robert  of  Lincoln  bestirs  him  well, 
Gathering  seeds  for  the  hungry  brood. 
Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-hnk, 
Spink,  spank,  spink ; 
This  new  life  is  likely  to  be 
Hard  for  a  gay  young  fellow  like  me. 
Chee,  chee,  chee. 

Robert  of  Lincoln  at  length  is  made 

Sober  with  work,  and  silent  with  care ; 
Off  is  his  holiday  garment  laid, 
Half  forgotten  that  merry  air  : 
Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink ; 
Nobody  knows  but  my  mate  and  I 
Where  our  nest  and  our  nestlings  lie. 
Chee,  chee,  chee. 

Summer  wanes  ;  the  children  are  grown  ; 

Fun  and  frolic  no  more  he  knows  ; 
Robert  of  Lincoln 's  a  humdrum  crone  ; 
Off  he  flies,  and  we  sing  as  he  goes  : 
Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink ; 
When  you  can  pipe  that  merry  old  strain, 
Robert  of  Lincoln,  come  back  again. 
Chee,  chee,  chee. 

WiLliam  Cullen  Bryant. 


54  THE   BROOK 


1. 


THE  BROOK       /.<-vu^/, 

I  COME  from  haunts  of  coot  and  hern, 

I  make  a  sudden  sally, 
And  sparkle  out  among  the  fern, 

To  bicker  down  a  valley. 

By  thirty  hiUs  I  hurry  down, 

Or  slip  between  the  ridges, 
By  twenty  thorps,  a  little  town, 

And  half  a  hundred  bridges. 

Till  last  by  Philip's  farm  I  flow 
To  join  the  brimming  river, 

For  men  may  come  and  men  may  go, 
But  I  go  on  forever. 

I  chatter  over  stony  ways, 

In  little  sharps  and  trebles, 
I  bubble  into  eddying  bays, 

I  babble  on  the  pebbles. 

With  many  a  curve  my  banks  I  fret 
By  many  a  field  and  fallow. 

And  many  a  fairy  foreland  set 
With  wdlow-weed  and  mallow. 

I  chatter,  chatter,  as  I  flow 
To  join  the  brimming  river, 

For  men  may  come  and  men  may  go. 
But  I  go  on  forever. 


THE  BROOK  55 

I  wind  about,  and  in  and  out, 

With  here  a  blossom  sailing, 
And  here  and  there  a  lusty  trout, 

And  here  and  there  a  grayling ; 

And  here  and  there  a  foamy  flake 

Upon  me,  as  I  travel 
With  many  a  silvery  waterbreak 

Above  the  golden  gravel ; 

And  draw  them  all  along,  and  flow 

To  join  the  brimming  river. 
For  men  may  come  and  men  may  go, 

But  I  go  on  forever. 

I  steal  by  lawns  and  grassy  plots, 

I  slide  by  hazel  covers ; 
I  move  the  sweet  forget-me-nots 

That  gfTow  for  happy  lovers. 

I  slip,  I  slide,  I  gloom,  I  glance, 
Among  my  skimming  swallows ; 

I  make  the  netted  sunbeam  dance 
Against  my  sandy  shallows. 

I  murmur  under  moon  and  stars 

In  brambly  wildernesses ; 
I  linger  by  my  shingly  bars ; 

I  loiter  round  my  cresses  : 

And  out  again  I  curve  and  flow 
To  join  the  brimming  river, 


56  GLENARA 

For  men  may  come  and  men  may  go, 
JJut  I  go  on  forever. 

Alfred  Tennyson. 


GLENARA 

Oh,  heard  ye  yon  pibroch  sound  sad  in  the  gale, 
Where  a  band  cometh  slowly  with  weeping  and 

wail? 
'T  is  the  Chief  of  Glenara  laments  for  his  dear, 
And  her  sire  and  her  people  are  called  to  her  bier. 

Glenara  came  first  with  the  mourners  and  shroud  ; 
His  kinsmen  they  followed  but  mourned  not  aloud. 
Their  plaids  o'er  their  bosoms  were  folded  around. 
They  marched  all  in  silence,  —  they  looked  on  the 
ground. 

In  silence  they  went,  over  mountain  and  moor. 
To  a  heath  where  the  oak-tree  grew  lonely  and  hoar  ; 
"  Now  here  let  us  place  the  gray  stone  of  her  cairn ; 
Why  speak  ye  no  word  ?  "  said  Glenara  the  stern. 

"  And  tell  me,  I  charge  you,  ye  clan  of  my  spouse, 
Why  fold   ye   your   mantles,  why  cloud  ye   your 

brows  ?  " 
So  spake  the  rude  chieftain  :  —  no  answer  is  made 
Till  each  mantle  unfolding  a  dagger  displayed. 

Cried  a  voice  from  the  kinsmen  all  wrathful  and 

loud : 
"  I  dreamt  of  my  lady,  I  dreamt  of  her  shroud. 


KUBLA  KHAN  57 

And  empty  that  shroud  and  that  coffin  did  seem ; 
Glenara !  Glenara  !  now  read  me  my  dream  !  " 

Oh  pale  grew  the  cheek  of  that  chieftain,  I  ween, 
When  the  shroud  was  unclosed  and  no  lady  was 

seen ; 
When  a  voice  from  the  kinsmen  spoke  louder  in 

scorn, — 
'T  was  the  youth  who  had  loved  the  fair  Ellen  of 

Lorn,  — 

"  I  dreamt  of  my  lady,  I  dreamt  of  her  grief; 
I  dreamt  that  her  lord  was  a  barbarous  chief ; 
On  a  rock  of  the  ocean  fair  Ellen  did  seem  ! 
Glenara  !  Glenara !  now  read  me  my  dream  !  " 

In  dust  low  the  traitor  has  knelt  to  the  ground, 
And  the  desert  revealed  where  his  lady  was  found ; 
From  a  rock  in  the  ocean  that  beauty  is  borne,  — 
Now  joy  to  the  house  of  fair  Ellen  of  Lorn  ! 

Thomas  Campbell, 

KUBLA  KHANi    Cf^A/l,*^0^. 

A   VISION  IN   A    DREAM 

In  Xanadu  did  Kubla  Khan 
A  stately  pleasure-dome  decree : 
Where  Alph,  the  sacred  river,  ran 
Through  caverns  measureless  to  man 
Down  to  a  sunless  sea. 
1  Note  5. 


58  KUBLA  KHAN 

So  twice  five  miles  of  fertile  ground 
With  walls  and  towers  were  girdled  round : 
And  there  were  gardens  bright  with  sinuous  rills 
Where  blossomed  many  an  incense-bearing  tree ; 
And  here  were  forests  ancient  as  the  hills, 
Enfolding  sunny  spots  of  greenery. 

But  oh,  that  deep  romantic  chasm  which  slanted 
Down  the  green  hill  athwart  a  cedarn  cover ! 
A  savage  place  !  as  holy  and  enchanted 
As  e'er  beneath  a  waning  moon  was  haunted 
By  woman  wailing  for  her  demon-lover  ! 
And  from  this  chasm,  with  ceaseless  turmoil  seeth- 
ing 
As  if  this  earth  in  fast  thick  pants  were  breathing, 
A  mighty  fountain  momently  was  forced : 
Amid  whose  swift  half-intermitted  burst 
Huge  fragments  vaulted  like  rebounding  hail, 
Or  chaffy  grain  beneath  the  thresher's  flail ; 
And  'mid  these  dancing  rocks  at  once  and  ever 
It  flung  up  momently  the  sacred  river. 
Five  miles  meandering  with  a  mazy  motion 
Through  wood  and  dale  the  sacred  river  ran, 
Then  reached  the  caverns  measureless  to  man, 
And  sank  in  tumult  to  a  lifeless  ocean : 
And  'mid  this  tumult  Kubla  heard  from  far 
Ancestral  voices  prophesying  war ! 

The  shadow  of  the  dome  of  pleasure 
Floated  midway  on  the  waves  ; 
Where  was  heard  the  mingled  measure 
From  the  fountain  and  the  caves. 


LUCY  59 

It  was  a  miracle  of  rare  device, 

A  sunny  pleasure-dome  with  caves  of  ice ! 

A  damsel  with  a  dulcimer 

In  a  vision  once  I  saw : 

It  was  an  Abyssinian  maid, 

And  on  her  dulcimer  she  played, 

Singing  of  Mount  Abora. 

Could  I  revive  within  me 

Her  symphony  and  song, 

To  such  a  deep  delight 't  would  win  me 

That  with  music  loud  and  long 

I  would  build  that  dome  in  air. 

That  sunny  dome  !     Those  caves  of  ice  ! 

And  all  who  heard  should  see  them  there, 

And  all  should  cry,  Beware  !  Beware  ! 

His  flashing  eyes,  his  floating  hair  ! 

Weave  a  circle  round  him  thrice, 

And  close  your  eyes  with  holy  dread. 

For  he  on  honey-dew  hath  fed, 

And  drunk  the  milk  of  Paradise. 

Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge^ 

LUCY  1  iMw^^d^' 

She  dwelt  among  the  untrodden  ways 

Beside  the  springs  of  Dove  ; 
A  maid  whom  there  were  none  to  praise, 

And  very  few  to  love. 

A  violet  by  a  mossy  stone 

Half-hidden  from  the  eye  !  — 

1  Note  6- 


60  LUCY 

Fair  as  a  star,  when  only  one 
Is  shining  in  the  sky. 

She  lived  unknown,  and  few  could  know 

When  Lucy  ceased  to  be  ; 
But  she  is  in  her  grave,  and  oh ! 

The  difference  to  me  ! 

William  Wordsworth^ 


LUCY     ^«f«-^* 

Three  years  she  grew  in  sun  and  shower ; 
Then  Nature  said,  "  A  lovelier  flower 
On  earth  was  never  sown : 
This  child  I  to  myself  will  take ; 
She  shall  be  mine,  and  I  will  make 
A  lady  of  my  own. 

"  Myself  will  to  my  darling  be 
Both  law  and  impulse :  and  with  me 
The  girl,  in  rock  and  plain. 
In  earth  and  heaven,  in  glade  and  bower, 
Shall  feel  an  overseeing  power 
To  kindle  or  restrain. 

"  She  shall  be  sportive  as  the  fawn 
That  wild  with  glee  across  the  lawn 
Or  up  the  mountain  springs  ; 
And  hers  shall  be  the  breathing  balm, 
And  hers  the  silence  and  the  calm 
Of  mute,  insensate  things. 


LUCY  61 

"  The  floating  clouds  their  state  shall  lend 
To  her  ;  for  her  the  willow  bend  ; 
Nor  shall  she  fail  to  see 
E'en  in  the  motions  of  the  storm 
Grace  that  shall  mould  the  maiden's  form 
By  silent  sympathy. 

"  The  stars  of  midnight  shall  be  dear 
To  her  ;  and  she  shall  lean  her  ear 
In  many  a  secret  place 

Where  rivulets  dance  their  wayward  round, 
And  beauty  born  of  murmuring  sound 
Shall  pass  into  her  face. 

"  And  vital  feelings  of  delight 
Shall  rear  her  form  to  stately  height, 
Her  virgin  bosom  swell ; 
Such  thoughts  to  Lucy  I  will  give 
While  she  and  I  together  live 
Here  in  this  happy  dell." 

Thus  Nature  spake  —  the  work  was  done  — 

How  soon  my  Lucy's  race  was  run  ! 

She  died,  and  left  to  me 

This  heath,  this  calm  and  quiet  scene  ; 

The  memory  of  what  has  been, 

And  never  more  will  be. 

William.  Wordsworth. 


62  TO  DIANEME  —  THE  TRUE  BEAUTY 


TO  DIANEME 

Sweet,  be  not  proud  of  those  two  eyes 
Which  starlike  sparkle  in  their  skies ; 
Nor  be  you  proud,  that  you  can  see 
All  hearts  your  captives  ;  yours  yet  free : 
Be  you  not  proud  of  that  rich  hair 
Which  wantons  with  the  lovesick  air; 
Whenas  that  ruby  which  you  wear 
Sunk  from  the  tip  of  your  soft  ear, 
Will  last  to  be  a  precious  stone 
When  all  your  world  of  beauty 's  gone. 

Robert  Herrick, 


THE  TRUE  BEAUTY 

He  that  loves  a  rosy  cheek 

Or  a  coral  lip  admires, 
Or  from  star-like  eyes  doth  seek 

Fuel  to  maintain  his  fires  ; 
As  old  Time  makes  these  decay, 
So  his  flames  must  waste  away. 

But  a  smooth  and  steadfast  mind, 
Gentle  thoughts,  and  calm  desires, 

Hearts  with  equal  love  combined, 
Kindle  never-dying  fires  :  — 

Where  these  are  not,  I  despise 

Lovely  cheeks,  or  lips,  or  eyes. 

Thomas  Carew. 


TO  A   CHILD   OF  QUALITY  63 


TO  A  CHILD  OF  QUALITY,  FIVE  YEARS  OLD* 

Lords,  knights,  and  'squires,  the  numerous  band 
That  wear  the  fair  Miss  Mary's  fetters, 

Were  summoned  by  her  high  command 
To  show  their  passions  by  their  letters. 

My  pen,  among  the  rest,  I  took. 

Lest  those  bright  eyes  that  cannot  read 

Should  dart  their  kindling  fires,  and  look 
The  power  they  have  to  be  obeyed. 

Nor  quality,  nor  reputation. 

Forbid  me  yet  my  flame  to  tell, 
Dear  five  years  old  befriends  my  passion, 

And  I  may  write  till  she  can  spell. 

For,  while  she  makes  her  silkworm  beds 
With  all  the  tender  things  I  swear  ; 

While  all  the  house  my  passion  reads, 
In  papers  round  her  baby's  hair,  — 

She  may  receive  and  own  my  flame, 

For,  though  the  strictest  prudes  should  know  it, 

She  '11  pass  for  a  most  virtuous  dame, 
And  I  for  an  unhappy  poet. 

Then,  too,  alas !  when  she  shall  tear 
The  lines  some  younger  rival  sends. 

She  '11  give  me  leave  to  write,  I  fear. 
And  we  shall  still  continue  friends 

1  Note  7. 


64  PROUD  MAI  SI  E 

For,  as  our  different  ages  move, 

'T  is  so  oi'dained  (would  Fate  but  mend  it !) 
That  I  shall  be  past  making  love 

When  she  begins  to  comprehend  it. 

Matthew  Prior, 

PROUD  MAISIE     ^u^joT'  ' 

Proud  Maisie  is  in  the  wood, 

Walking  so  early  ; 
Sweet  Robin  sits  on  the  bush, 

Singing  so  rarely. 

*'  Tell  me,  thou  bonny  bird. 

When  shall  I  marry  me  ?  "  — 

"When  six  braw  gentlemen 
Kirkward  shall  carry  ye." 

"  Who  makes  the  bridal  bed. 

Birdie,  say  truly  ?  "  — 
"  The  gray-headed  sexton 

That  delves  the  grave  duly 

'^  The  glow-worm  o'er  grave  and  stone 
Shall  light  thee  steady  ; 
The  owl  from  the  steeple  sing, 
*  Welcome,  proud  lady.'  " 

Sir  Walter  Scott. 


THE  PASSIONATE  SHEPHERD  TO  HIS  LOVE  65 


THE  PASSIONATE  SHEPHERD  TO  HIS  LOVE 

Come  live  with  me  and  be  my  love, 
And  we  will  all  the  pleasures  prove 
That  hills  and  valleys,  dales  and  fields, 
And  woods  or  steepy  mountain  yields. 

And  we  will  sit  upon  the  rocks, 
Seeing  the  shepherds  feed  their  flocks 
By  shallow  rivers  to  whose  falls 
Melodious  birds  sing  madrigals. 

And  I  will  make  thee  beds  of  roses 
And  a  thousand  fragrant  posies, 
A  cap  of  flowers,  and  a  kirtle 
Embroidered  aU  with  leaves  of  myrtle. 

A  gown  made  of  the  finest  wool, 
"Which  from  our  pretty  lambs  we  pull, 
Fair-lined  slippers  for  the  cold, 
With  buckles  of  the  purest  gold. 

A  belt  of  straw  and  ivy-buds 
With  coral  clasps  and  amber  studs ; 
An'  if  these  pleasures  may  thee  move,, 
-Come  live  with  me,  and  be  my  love. 

Thy  silver  dishes  for  thy  meat 
As  precious  as  the  gods  do  eat, 
Shall  on  an  ivory  table  be 
Prepared  each  day  for  thee  and  me. 


66      THE  DESTRUCTION  OF  SENNACHERIB 

The  sheplierd-swains  shall  dance  and  sing 
For  thy  delight  each  May-morning : 
If  these  delights  thy  mind  may  move, 
Then  live  with  me,  and  be  my  love. 

Christopher  Marlowe, 

THE  DESTRUCTION  OF  SENNACHERIB  i  /2y 

The  Assyrian  came  down  like  the  wolf  on  the  fold, 
And  his  cohorts  were  gleaming  in  purple  and  gold, 
And  the  sheen  of  their  spears  was  like  stars  on  the 

sea, 
When  the  blue  wave  rolls  nightly  on  deep  Galilee. 

Like  the  leaves  of  the  forest  when  summer  is  green, 
That  host  with  their  banners  at  sunset  were  seen  ; 
Like  the  leaves  of  the  forest  when  autumn   hath 

blown. 
That  host  on  the  morrow  lay  withered  and  strown. 

For  the  Angel  of  Death  spread  his  wings  on  the 

blast, 
And  breathed  in  the  face  of  the  foe  as  he  passed  ; 
And   the    eyes  of  the   sleepers  waxed  deadly  and 

chill. 
And  their  hearts  but  once  heaved,  and  for  ever  grew 

still. 

And  there  lay  the  steed  with  his  nostril  all  wide, 
But  through  it  there  rolled  not  the  breath  of  his 
pride ; 

I  Note  8. 


i/Urr. 


SIR  PATRICK  SPENS  67 

And  the  foam  of  his  gasping  lay  white  on  the  turf, 
And  cold  as  the  spray  of  the  rock-beating  surf. 

And  there  lay  the  rider,  distorted  and  pale, 
With  the  dew  on  his  brow,  and  the  rust  on  his  mail ; 
And  the  tents  were  all  silent,  the  banners  alone, 
The  lances  unlifted,  the  trumpet  unblown. 

And  the  widows  of  Ashur  are  loud  in  their  wail. 
And  the  idols  are  broke  in  the  temple  of  Baal, 
And  the  might  of  the  Gentile,  unsmote  by  the  swordj 
Hath  melted  like  snow  in  the  glance  of  the  Lord ! 

Lord  Byron, 


SIR  PATRICK  SPENS   /U 

The  king  sits  in  Dunfermline  toun, 
Drinking  the  blude-red  wine  : 
"  Oh,  whare  will  I  get  a  skeely  skipper 
To  sail  this  new  ship  of  mine  ?  " 

Oh,  up  and  spake  an  eldern  knight, 
Sat  at  the  king's  right  knee, 
**  Sir  Patrick  Spens  is  the  best  saUor 
That  ever  sailed  the  sea." 

Our  king  has  written  a  braid  letter. 
And  sealed  it  with  his  hand, 

And  sent  it  to  Sir  Patrick  Spens, 
Was  walking  on  the  strand. 

"  To  Noroway,  to  Noroway, 

To  Noroway  o'er  the  faem  j 


Bfuu^ 


68  STR  PATRICK  SPENS 

The  king's  daughter  of  Noroway, 
'T  is  thou  maun  bring  her  hame." 

The  first  word  that  Sir  Patrick  read, 

Sae  loud,  loud  laughed  he  ; 
The  neist  word  that  Sir  Patrick  read, 

The  tear  blinded  his  e'e. 

"  Oh  wha  is  this  has  done  this  deed, 
And  tauld  the  king  o'  me, 
To  send  us  out,  at  this  time  of  the  year, 
To  sail  upon  the  sea  ?  " 

'<  Be  it  wind,  be  it  weet,  be  it  hail,  be  it  sleetj 
Our  ship  must  sail  the  faem  ; 
The  king's  daughter  of  Noroway, 
'T  is  we  must  fetch  her  hame." 

They  hoysed  their  sails  on  IMonenday  mornj 

Wi'  a'  the  speed  they  may ; 
And  they  hae  landed  in  Noroway 

Upon  a  Wedensday. 

They  hadna  been  a  week,  a  week 

In  Noroway  but  twae. 
When  that  the  lords  o'  Noroway 

Began  aloud  to  say  : 

"  Ye  Scottishmen  spend  a'  our  king's  gowd. 

And  a'  our  queenis  fee." 
"  Ye  lie,  ye  lie,  ye  liars  loud  ! 

Fu'  loud  I  hear  ye  lie ! 


SIR  PATRICK  SPENS  69 

"  For  I  hae  brought  as  much  white  monie 
As  gane  my  men  and  me, 
And  I  hae  brought  a  half-fou'  o'  gude  red  gowd 
Out  o'er  the  sea  wi'  me. 

"  Make  ready,  make  ready,  my  merry  men  a' ! 

Our  gude  ship  sails  the  morn." 
"  Now  ever  alake,  my  master  dear, 

I  fear  a  deadly  storm  ! 

"  I  saw  the  new  moon,  late  yestreen, 

Wi'  the  auld  moon  in  her  arm ; 
And  if  we  gang  to  sea,  master, 

I  fear  we  '11  come  to  harm." 

They  hadna  sailed  a  league,  a  league, 

A  league  but  barely  three. 
When  the  lift  grew  dark,  and  the  wind  blew  loud. 

And  gurly  grew  the  sea. 

The  ankers  brak,  and  the  top-masts  lap, 

It  was  sic  a  deadly  storm ; 
And  the  waves  cam'  o'er  the  broken  ship 

Till  a'  her  sides  were  torn. 

"  Oh,  where  will  I  get  a  gude  sailor, 
To  take  my  helm  in  hand, 
Till  I  get  up  to  the  tall  top-mast. 
To  see  if  I  can  spy  land  ?  " 

"  Oh  here  am  I,  a  sailor  gude. 
To  take  the  helm  in  hand, 


70  SIR  PATRICK  SPENS 

Till  ye  get  up  to  the  tall  top-mast : 
But  I  fear  you  '11  ne'er  spy  land." 

He  hadna  gane  a  step,  a  step, 

A  step  but  barely  ane, 
When  a  bout  flew  out  of  our  goodly  ship. 

And  the  salt  sea  it  came  in. 

"  Gae,  fetch  a  web  o'  the  silken  claith, 

Another  o'  the  twine, 
And  wap  them  into  our  ship's  side, 
And  letna  the  sea  come  in." 

They  fetched  a  web  o'  the  silken  claith. 

Another  o'  the  twine, 
And  they  wapped  them  round  that  gude  ship's  side^ 

But  still  the  sea  came  in. 

Oh,  laith,  laith  were  our  gude  Scots  lords 

To  wet  their  cork-heeled  shoon ! 
But  lang  ere  a'  the  play  was  played 

They  wat  their  hats  aboon. 

And  mony  was  the  feather-bed 

That  floated  on  the  faem, 
And  mony  was  the  gude  lord's  son 

That  never  mair  came  hame. 

The  ladyes  wrang  their  fingers  white. 

The  maidens  tore  their  hair  ; 
A'  for  the  sake  of  their  true  loves. 

For  them  they  '11  see  na  mair. 


SONG  71 

Oh,  lang,  lang  may  the  ladyes  sit, 

Wi'  their  fans  into  their  hand, 
Before  they  see  Sir  Patrick  Spens 

Come  sailing  to  the  strand. 

And  lang,  lang  may  the  maidens  sit, 
Wi'  the  goud  kaims  in  their  hair, 

A'  waiting  for  their  ain  dear  loves, 
For  them  they  '11  see  na  mair. 

Oh,  forty  miles  off  Aberdour, 

'T  is  fifty  fathoms  deep. 
And  there  lies  gude  Sir  Patrick  Spens, 

Wi'  the  Scots  lords  at  his  feet. 

Unknown. 

SONGi 

For  the  tender  beech  and  the  sapling  oak, 

That  grow  by  the  shadowy  rill, 
You  may  cut  down  both  at  a  single  stroke, 

You  may  cut  down  which  you  will. 

But  this  you  must  know,  that  as  long  as  they 
grow. 
Whatever  change  may  be, 
You  can  never  teach  either  oak  or  beech 
To  be  aught  but  a  greenwood  tree. 

Thomas  Love  Peacock. 
1  Note  9. 


m  THE  MARINERS   OF  ENGLAND 


THE  MARINERS  OF  ENGLAND  7^ . 

Ye  Mariners  of  England  Ls>^iyUL(A 

That  guard  our  native  seas ! 

Whose  flag  has  braved,  a  thousand  years, 

The  battle  and  the  breeze  ! 

Your  glorious  standard  launch  again 

To  match  another  foe  : 

And  sweep  through  the  deep, 

While  the  stormy  winds  do  blow ; 

While  the  battle  rages  loud  and  long 

And  the  stormy  winds  do  blow. 

The  spirits  of  your  fathers 

Shall  start  from  every  wave, 

For  the  deck  it  was  their  field  of  fame. 

And  Ocean  was  their  grave  : 

Where  Blake  and  mighty  Nelson  fell 

Your  manly  hearts  shall  glow, 

As  ye  sweep  through  the  deep, 

While  the  stormy  winds  do  blow ; 

While  the  battle  rages  loud  and  long 

And  the  stormy  winds  do  blow. 

Britannia  needs  no  bulwarks, 

No  towers  along  the  steep  ; 

Her  march  is  o'er  the  mountain  waves. 

Her  home  is  on  the  deep. 

With  thunders  from  her  native  oak 

She  quells  the  floods  below, 

As  they  roar  on  the  shore. 


OLD   IRONSIDES  73 

When  the  stormy  winds  do  blow  ; 
When  the  battle  rages  loud  and  long 
And  the  stormy  winds  do  blow. 

The  meteor-flag  of  England 

Shall  yet  terrific  burn  ; 

Till  danger's  troubled  night  depart 

And  the  star  of  peace  return. 

Then,  then,  ye  ocean  warriors  ! 

Our  song  and  feast  shall  flow 

To  the  fame  of  your  name. 

When  the  storm  has  ceased  to  blow ; 

When  the  fiery  fight  is  heard  no  more, 

And  the  storm  has  ceased  to  blow. 

Thomas  Campbell 

OLD  IRONSIDES  1  OC^,  ^^-ImiA/o 

At,  tear  her  tattered  ensign  down  I 

Long  has  it  waved  on  high, 
And  many  an  eye  has  danced  to  see 

That  banner  in  the  sky  ; 
Beneath  it  rung  the  battle  shout, 

And  burst  the  cannon's  roar ;  — 
The  meteor  of  the  ocean  air 

Shall  sweep  the  clouds  no  more. 

Her  deck,  once  red  with  heroes'  blood, 
Where  knelt  the  vanquished  foe, 

When  winds  were  hurrying  o'er  the  flood, 
And  waves  were  white  below, 
1  Note  10. 


74  NOMA'S  VOW 

No  more  shall  feel  the  victor's  tread, 
Or  know  the  conquered  knee  ; 

The  harpies  of  the  shore  shall  pluck 
The  eagle  of  the  sea  ! 

Oh,  better  that  her  shattered  hulk 

Should  sink  beneath  the  wave ; 
Her  thunders  shook  the  mighty  deep, 

And  there  should  be  her  grave : 
Nail  to  the  mast  her  holy  flag, 

Set  every  threadbare  sail, 
And  give  her  to  the  god  of  storms, 

The  lightning  and  the  gale  ! 

Oliver  Wendell  Holme& 


NORA'S  VOW 


Hear  what  Highland  Nora  said,  — 
**  The  Earlie's  son  I  will  not  wed. 
Should  all  the  race  of  nature  die. 
And  none  be  left  Tjut  he  and  I. 
For  all  the  gold,  for  all  the  gear. 
And  all  the  lands  both  far  and  near, 
That  ever  valor  lost  or  won, 
I  would  not  wed  the  Earlie's  son." 


"  A  maiden's  vows,"  old  Galium  spoke, 
**  Are  lightly  made,  and  lightly  broke  ; 
The  heather  on  the  mountain's  height 
Begins  to  bloom  in  purple  light  i 


THE  SKELETON  IN  ARMOR  75 

Tlie  frost-wind  soon  shall  sweep  away 
That  lustre  deep  from  glen  and  brae  ; 
Yet  Nora,  ere  its  bloom  be  gone, 
May  blithely  wed  the  Earlie's  son." 


"  The  swan,"  she  said,  "  the  lake's  clear  breast 
May  barter  for  the  eagle's  nest ; 
The  Awe's  fierce  stream  may  backward  turn, 
Ben-Cruaichan  fall,  and  crush  Kilchurn ; 
Our  kilted  clans,  when  blood  is  high, 
Before  their  foes  may  turn  and  fly  ; 
But  I,  were  all  these  marvels  done, 
Would  never  wed  the  Earlie's  son." 

IV 

Still  in  the  water-lily's  shade 

Her  wonted  nest  the  wild-swan  made  ; 

Ben-Cruaichan  stands  as  fast  as  ever, 

StiU  downward  foams  the  Awe's  fi^erce  river; 

To  shun  the  clash  of  foeman's  steel. 

No  Higldand  brogue  has  turned  the  heel : 

But  Nora's  heart  is  lost  and  won,  — 

She 's  wedded  to  the  Earlie's  son  ! 

Sir  Walter  Scott. 


THE  SKELETON  IN  ARMOR 

"  Speak  !  speak !  thou  fearful  guest ! 
Who,  with  thy  hollow  breast 
StiU  in  rude  armor  drest, 
Comest  to  daunt  me  ! 


/-O*^' 


76  TEE  SKELETON   IN  ARMOR 

Wrapt  not  in  Eastern  balms, 
But  with  thy  fleshless  palms 
Stretched,  as  if  asking  alms, 

"Why  dost  thou  haunt  me  ?  " 

Then,  from  those  cavernous  eyes 
Pale  flashes  seemed  to  rise. 
As  when  the  Northern  skies 

Gleam  in  December  ; 
And,  like  the  water's  flow 
Under  December's  snow, 
Came  a  dull  voice  of  woe 

From  the  heart's  chamber. 

**  I  was  a  Viking  old  ! 

My  deeds,  though  manifold. 
No  Skald  in  song  has  told, 

No  Saga  taught  thee  ! 
Take  heed,  that  in  thy  verse 
Thou  dost  the  tale  rehearse, 
Else  dread  a  dead  man's  curse  $ 

For  this  I  sought  thee. 

**  Far  in  the  Northern  Land, 
By  the  wild  Baltic's  strand, 
I,  with  my  childish  hand. 
Tamed  the  gerfalcon ; 
And,  with  my  skates  fast-bound. 
Skimmed  the  half-frozen  Sound, 
That  the  poor,  whimpering  hound 
Trembled  to  walk  on. 


THE  SKELETON  IN  ARMOR  77 

"  Oft  to  his  frozen  lair 
Tracked  I  the  grisly  bear, 
"While  from  my  path  the  hare 

Fled  like  a  shadow ; 
Oft  through  the  forest  dark 
Followed  the  were-wolf's  bark. 
Until  the  soaring  lark 

Sang  from  the  meadow. 

"  But  when  I  older  grew, 
Joining  a  corsair's  crew, 
O'er  the  dark  sea  I  flew 

With  the  marauders. 

Wild  was  the  life  we  led ; 

Many  the  souls  that  sped, 

Many  the  hearts  that  bled. 

By  our  stern  orders. 

*♦  Many  a  wassail-bout 
Wore  the  long  winter  out ; 
Often  our  midnight  shout 

Set  the  cocks  crowing, 
As  we  the  Berserk's  tale 
Measured  in  cups  of  ale, 
Draining  the  oaken  pail, 
Filled  to  o'er  flowing. 

«« Once,  as  I  told  in  glee 
Tales  of  the  stormy  sea, 
Soft  eyes  did  gaze  on  me. 
Burning  yet  tender ; 
And  as  the  white  stars  shine 
On  the  dark  Norway  pine. 


78  THE  SKELETON  IN  ARMOR 

On  that  dark  heart  of  mine 
Fell  their  soft  splendor. 

"  I  wooed  the  blue-eyed  maid, 
Yielding,  yet  half  afraid, 
And  in  the  forest's  shade 

Our  vows  were  plighted. 
Under  its  loosened  vest 
Fluttered  her  little  breast. 
Like  birds  within  their  nest 
By  the  hawk  frighted. 

*'  Bright  in  her  father's  hall 
Shields  gleamed  upon  the  wall, 
Loud  sang  the  minstrels  all, 

Chanting  his  glory ; 
When  of  old  Hildebrand 
I  asked  his  daughter's  hand, 
Mute  did  the  minstrels  stand 

To  hear  my  story. 

*<'  While  the  brown  ale  he  quaffed, 
Loud  then  the  champion  laughed; 
And  as  the  wind-gusts  waft 
The  sea-foam  brightly, 
So  the  loud  laugh  of  scorn, 
Out  of  those  lips  unshorn, 
From  the  deep  drinking-horn 
Blew  the  foam  lightly. 

"  She  was  a  Prince's  child, 
I  but  a  Viking  wild, 
And  though  she  blushed  and  smiled, 


THE  SKELETON  IN  ARMOR  79 

I  was  discarded ! 
Should  not  the  dove  so  white 
Follow  the  sea-mew's  flight, 
"Why  did  they  leave  that  night 

Her  nest  unguarded  ? 

'^^  Scarce  had  I  put  to  sea. 
Bearing  the  maid  with  me,  — 
Fairest  of  all  was  she 

Among  the  Norsemen  !  — 
When  on  the  white  sea-strand, 
Waving  his  armed  hand, 
Saw  we  old  Hildebrand, 

With  twenty  horsemen. 

«  Then  launched  they  to  the  blast, 
Bent  like  a  reed  each  mast. 
Yet  we  were  gaining  fast. 

When  the  wind  failed  us ; 
And  with  a  sudden  flaw 
Came  round  the  gusty  Skaw, 
So  that  our  foe  we  saw 

Laugh  as  he  hailed  us. 

*'  And  as  to  catch  the  gale 
Round  veered  the  flapping  sail. 
Death  !  was  the  helmsman's  hail. 

Death  without  quarter ! 
Midships  with  iron  keel 
Struck  we  her  ribs  of  steel ; 
Down  her  black  hulk  did  reel 
Through  the  black  water ! 


80  THE  SKELETON  IN  ARMOR 

"  As  with  his  wings  aslant, 
Sails  the  fierce  cormorant, 
Seeking  some  rocky  haunt 

With  his  prey  laden, 
So  toward  the  open  main, 
Beating  to  sea  again, 
Through  the  wild  hurricane 

Bore  I  the  maiden. 

*'  Three  weeks  we  westward  bore. 
And  when  the  storm  was  o'er, 
Cloud-like  we  saw  the  shore 
Stretching  to  leeward ; 
There  for  my  lady's  bower 
Built  I  the  lofty  tower, 
Which,  to  this  very  hour, 

Stands  looking  seaward. 

*'  There  lived  we  many  years  ; 
Time  dried  the  maiden's  tears ; 
She  had  forgot  her  fears, 

She  was  a  mother  ; 
Death  closed  her  mild  blue  eyes. 
Under  that  tower  she  lies  ; 
Ne'er  shall  the  sun  arise 
On  such  another ! 

"  Still  grew  my  bosom  then, 
Still  as  a  stagnant  fen  ! 
Hateful  to  me  were  men, 
The  sunlight  hateful ! 


THE  FAREWELL  81 

In  the  vast  forest  here, 
Clad  in  my  warlike  gear, 
Fell  I  upon  my  spear, 

Oh,  death  was  grateful ! 

"  Thus,  seamed  with  many  scars, 
Bursting  these  prison  bars, 
Up  to  its  native  stars 

My  soul  ascended  ! 
There  from  the  flowing  bowl 
Deep  drinks  the  warrior's  soul, 
Skoal !  to  the  Northland  !  Skoal !  " 
Thus  the  tale  ended. 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow. 


THE  FAREWELL 

It  was  a'  for  our  rightfu'  King 
We  left  fair  Scotland's  strand  ] 

It  was  a'  for  our  rightfu'  King 
We  e'er  saw  Irish  land, 

My  dear ; 
We  e'er  saw  Irish  land. 

Now  a'  is  done  that  men  can  do, 
And  a'  is  done  in  vain  ; 

My  love  and  native  land  farewell, 
For  I  maun  cross  the  main, 
My  dear ; 
For  I  maun  cross  the  main. 


82  ADAM  0'    GORDON 

He  turned  him  right  and  round  about 

Upon  the  Irish  shore  ; 
And  gae  his  bridle-reins  a  shake, 

With  adieu  for  evermore, 
My  dear ; 

With  adieu  for  evermore. 

The  sodger  from  the  vrars  returns, 
The  sailor  frae  the  main  ; 

But  I  hae  parted  frae  my  love, 
Never  to  meet  again, 

My  dear ; 
Never  to  meet  again. 

When  day  is  gane,  and  night  is  come, 
And  a'  folk  bound  to  sleep ; 

I  think  on  him  that 's  far  avra'. 
The  lee-lang  night,  and  weep, 

My  dear ; 
The  lee-lang  night,  and  weep. 


Unknown, 


ADAM  O'  GORDON 

It  feU  about  the  Martinmas, 

When  the  wind  blew  shrill  and  cold. 
Said  Adam  o'  Gordon  to  his  men, 

*'  We  maun  draw  to  a  hold. 

*'  And  whatna  hold  shall  we  draw  to, 
My  merry  men  and  me  ? 


ADAM   0'    GORDON  83 

We  will  go  to  tlie  house  of  Rodes, 
To  see  that  fair  ladye." 

The  lady  stood  on  her  castle  wall ; 

Beheld  both  dale  and  down  ; 
There  she  was  aware  of  a  host  of  men 

Came  riding  towards  the  town. 

"  Oh,  see  ye  not,  my  merry  men  all, 
Oh,  see  ye  not  what  I  see  ? 
Methinks  I  see  a  host  of  men : 
I  marvel  who  they  be." 

Slie  had  no  sooner  buskit  herself, 

And  putten  on  her  gown, 
Till  Adam  o'  Gordon  and  his  men 

Were  round  about  the  town. 

The  lady  ran  to  her  tower-head. 

As  fast  as  she  could  hie, 
To  see  if  by  her  fair  speeches 

She  could  with  him  agree. 

"'  Give  o'er  your  house,  ye  lady  fair, 

Give  o'er  your  house  to  me  ! 

Or  I  shall  burn  yourself  therein, 

But  and  your  babies  three." 

**  I  winna  give  o'er,  ye  false  Gordon, 
To  no  sic  traitor  as  thee  ; 
And  if  ye  burn  my  ain  dear  babes, 
My  lord  shall  mak'  ye  dree. 


84  ADAM  0'    GORDON 

"  Woe  worth,  woe  worth  ye,  Jock,  my  man ! 
I  paid  ye  well  your  fee ; 
Why  pull  ye  out  the  grund-wa'  stone, 
Lets  in  the  reek  to  me  ? 

"  And  e'en  woe  worth  ye,  Jock,  my  man ! 
I  paid  ye  well  your  hire  ; 
Why  pull  ye  out  the  grund-wa'  stone, 
To  me  lets  in  the  lire  ?  " 

"  Ye  paid  me  well  my  hire,  ladye, 
Ye  paid  me  well  my  fee  ; 
But  now  I  'm  Adam  o'  Gordon's  man,  — 
Must  either  do  or  dee." 

Oh,  then  bespake  her  little  son, 

Sat  on  the  nurse's  knee  ; 
Says,  "  O  mither  dear,  give  o'er  this  house ! 

For  the  reek  it  smothers  me." 

"  I  winna  give  up  my  house,  my  dear, 
To  no  sic  traitor  as  he : 
Come  weal,  come  woe,  my  jewel  fair, 
Ye  maun  take  share  with  me." 

Oh,  then  bespake  her  daughter  dear,  — 
She  was  both  jimp  and  small : 
"  Oh,  row  me  in  a  pair  of  sheets. 
And  tow  me  o'er  the  wall !  " 

They  rowed  her  in  a  pair  of  sheets, 
And  towed  her  o'er  the  wall ; 


ADAM  C   GORDON  85 

But  on  the  point  of  Gordon's  spear 
She  gat  a  deadly  fall. 

Oh,  bonnie,  bonnie  was  her  mouth, 

And  cherry  were  her  cheeks, 
And  clear,  clear  was  her  yellow  hair, 

Whereon  the  red  blood  dreeps  ! 

Then  with  his  spear  he  turned  her  o'er ; 

Oh,  gin  her  face  was  wan ! 
He  said,  "  Ye  are  the  first  that  e'er 

I  wished  alive  again. 

«*  Busk  and  boun,  my  merry  men  all, 
For  ill  dooms  I  do  guess ;  — 
I  cannot  look  on  that  bonnie  face 
As  it  Ues  on  the  grass." 

But  when  the  ladye  saw  the  fire 

Come  flaming  o'er  her  head. 
She  wept,  and  kissed  her  children  twain. 

Says,  "  Bairns,  we  be  but  dead." 

Oh,  this  way  looked  her  own  dear  lord^ 

As  he  came  o'er  the  lea  ; 
He  saw  his  castle  all  in  a  lowe, 

So  far  as  he  could  see. 

*'  Put  on,  put  on,  my  mighty  men, 
As  fast  as  ye  can  dri'e ! 
For  he  that 's  liindmost  of  the  thrang 
Shall  ne'er  get  good  of  me !  " 


86  ARTEL'S  SONGS 

Then  some  they  rade,  and  some  they  ran, 

Out  o'er  the  grass  and  bent ; 
But  ere  the  foremost  could  win  up, 

Both  lady  and  babes  were  brent. 

And  after  the  Gordon  he  is  gane, 

Sae  fast  as  he  might  dri'e  ; 
And  soon  i'  the  Gordon's  foul  heart's  blood 

He  's  wroken  his  fair  ladye. 

Unknown 


ARIEL'S  SONGS      J^c^^c*  • 

Where  the  bee  sucks,  there  suck  I : 

In  a  cowslip's  bell  I  lie  ; 

There  I  couch  when  owls  do  cry  : 

On  the  bat's  back  I  do  fly 

After  summer  merrUy. 

Merrily,  merrily,  shall  I  live  now, 

Under  the  blossom  that  hangs  on  the  bough ! 


Come  unto  these  yellow  sands, 

And  then  take  hands  : 
Courtsied  when  you  have,  and  kissed, 

(The  wild  waves  whist) 
Foot  it  featly  here  and  there  ; 
And,  sweet  Sprites,  the  burthen  bear. 
Hark,  hark ! 

Bow-wow. 
The  watchdogs  bark : 


BREAK,  BREAK,  BREAK  87 

Bow-wow. 
Hark,  hark  !  I  hear 
The  strain  of  strutting  chanticleer 
Cry,  Cock-a-diddle-dow ! 

Shakespeare 


BREAK,  BREAK,  BREAK     r 

Break,  break,  break, 

On  thy  cold,  gray  stones,  O  Sea ! 
And  I  would  that  my  tongue  could  utter 

The  thoughts  that  arise  in  me. 

Oh,  well  for  the  fisherman's  boy. 

That  he  shouts  with  his  sister  at  play ! 

Oh,  well  for  the  sailor  lad. 

That  he  sings  in  his  boat  on  the  bay  ! 

And  the  stately  ships  go  on 

To  their  haven  under  the  hill ; 
But  oh,  for  the  touch  of  a  vanished  hand, 

And  the  sound  of  a  voice  that  is  still ! 

Break,  break,  break. 

At  the  foot  of  thy  crags,  0  Sea  ! 
But  the  tender  grace  of  a  day  that  is  dead 

Will  never  come  back  to  me. 

Alfred  Tennys<ytu 


88  SHAMEFUL   DEATH 


SHAMEFUL  DEATH 

There  were  four  of  us  about  that  bed ; 

The  mass-priest  knelt  at  the  side, 
I  and  his  mother  stood  at  the  head, 

Over  his  feet  lay  the  bride  ; 
We  were  quite  sure  that  he  was  dead, 

Though  his  eyes  were  open  wide. 

He  did  not  die  in  the  night. 

He  did  not  die  in  the  day, 
But  in  the  morning  twilight 

His  spirit  passed  away  ; 
"When  neither  sun  nor  moon  was  bright, 

And  the  trees  were  merely  gray. 

He  was  not  slain  with  the  sword, 
Knight's  axe,  or  the  knightly  spear, 

Yet  spoke  he  never  a  word 
After  he  came  in  here  ; 

I  cut  away  the  cord 

From  the  neck  of  my  brother  dear. 

He  did  not  strike  one  blow, 

For  the  recreants  came  behind. 

In  a  place  where  the  hornbeams  grow, 
A  path  right  hard  to  find, 

For  the  hornbeam  boughs  swing  so 
That  the  twilight  makes  it  blind. 


TO  A  MOUNTAIN  DAISY  89 

They  lighted  a  great  torch  then, 

When  his  arms  were  pinioned  fast ; 

Sir  John,  the  Knight  of  the  Fen, 
Sir  Guy  of  the  Dolorous  Blast, 

With  knights  threescore  and  ten, 
Hung  brave  Sir  Hugh  at  last. 

I  am  threescore  and  ten, 

And  my  hair  is  all  turned  gray. 
But  I  met  Sir  John  of  the  Fen 

Long  ago  on  a  summer  day, 
And  am  glad  to  think  of  the  moment  when 

I  took  his  life  away. 

I  am  threescore  and  ten, 

And  my  strength  is  mostly  passed. 
But  long  ago  I  and  my  men. 

When  the  sky  was  overcast. 
And  the  smoke  rolled  over  the  reeds  of  the  fen, 

Slew  Sir  Guy  of  the  Dolorous  Blast. 

And  now,  knights,  all  of  you, 
I  pray  you,  pray  for  Sir  Hugh, 
A  good  knight  and  a  true. 
And  for  Alice,  his  wife,  pray  too. 

William  Morris. 


TO  A  MOUNTAIN  DAISY    ^4<UW»> 

Wee,  modest,  crimson-tippbd  flower, 
Thou 's  met  me  in  an  evil  hour ; 


90  TO  A  MOUNTAIN  DAISY 

For  I  maun  crush  amang  the  stour 

Thy  slender  stem  ; 
To  spare  thee  now  is  past  my  power, 

Thou  bonnie  gem. 

Alas  !  it 's  no  thy  neebor  sweet, 
The  bonnie  lark,  companion  meet  I 
Bending  thee  'mang  the  dewy  weet 

Wi'  spreckled  breast. 
When  upward  springing,  blythe,  to  greet 

The  purpling  east. 

Cauld  blew  the  bitter-biting  north 
Upon  thy  early,  humble  birth  ; 
Yet  cheerfully  thou  glinted  forth 

Amid  the  storm  ; 
Scarce  reared  above  the  parent  earth 

Thy  tender  form. 

The  flaunting  flowers  our  gardens  yield 
High  sheltering  woods  and  wa's  maun  shield^ 
But  thou  beneath  the  random  bield 

O'  clod  or  stane 
Adorns  the  histie  stibble-field, 

Unseen,  alane. 

There,  in  thy  scanty  mantle  clad, 
Thy  snawy  bosom  sunward  spread, 
Thou  lifts  thy  unassuming  head 

In  humble  guise ; 
But  now  the  share  uptears  thy  bed, 

And  low  thou  lies ! 

Robert  Burns, 


THE  FAIRIES   OF  THE   CALDON  LOW      91 


THE  LAMB    f^^loJ^ 

Little  Lamb,  who  made  thee  ? 
Dost  thou  know  who  made  thee, 
Gave  thee  hfe,  and  bid  thee  feed 
By  the  stream  and  o'er  the  mead  ; 
Gave  thee  clothing  of  deUght, 
Softest  clothing,  woolly,  bright ; 
Gave  thee  such  a  tender  voice 
Making  all  the  vales  rejoice  ; 

Little  Lamb,  who  made  thee  ? 

Dost  thou  know  who  made  thee  ? 

Little  Lamb,  I  '11  tell  thee  ; 
Little  Lamb,  I  '11  tell  thee. 
He  is  called  by  thy  name, 
For  He  calls  himself  a  Lamb :  — 
He  is  meek  and  He  is  mild ; 
He  became  a  little  child. 
I  a  child,  and  thou  a  lamb, 
We  are  called  by  his  name. 

Little  Lamb,  God  bless  thee ; 

Little  Lamb,  God  bless  thee. 

William  Blake, 


THE  FAIRIES  OF  THE  CALDON  LOW 

A   MIDSUSOIER   LEGEND. 

*'  And  where  have  you  been,  my  Mary, 
And  where  have  you  been  from  me  ?  '* 


92       THE  FAIRIES   OF  THE   CALDON  LOW 

"  I  have  been  to  the  top  of  the  Caldon  LoWj 
The  midsummer  night  to  see." 

"  And  what  did  you  see,  my  Mary, 
All  up  on  the  Caldon  Low  ?  " 

"  I  saw  the  glad  sunshine  come  down, 
And  I  saw  the  merry  winds  blow." 

"  And  what  did  you  hear,  my  Mary, 
All  up  on  the  Caldon  Hill  ?  " 

*'  I  heard  the  drops  of  the  water  made, 
And  the  ears  of  the  green  corn  fill.'* 

"  Oh,  tell  me  all,  my  Mary,  — 
All,  all  that  ever  you  know ; 
For  you  must  have  seen  the  fairies 
Last  night,  on  the  Caldon  Low." 

"  Then  take  me  on  your  knee,  mother ; 
And  listen,  mother  of  mine  : 
A  hundred  fairies  danced  last  night, 
And  the  harpers  they  were  nine. 

"  And  their  harpstrings  rung  so  merrily 
To  their  dancing  feet  so  small ; 
But  oh,  the  words  of  their  talking 
"Were  merrier  far  than  all." 

"  And  what  were  the  words,  my  Mary, 
That  then  you  heard  them  say  ?  " 

"  I  '11  tell  you  all,  my  mother  : 
But  let  me  have  my  way. 


THE  FAIRIES   OF  THE   CALDON  LOW      93 

"  Some  of  them  played  with  the  water, 
And  rolled  it  down  the  hill ; 
« And  this,'  they  said,  '  shall  speedily  turn 
The  poor  old  miller's  mill, 

"  *  For  there  has  heen  no  water 
Ever  since  the  first  of  May ; 
And  a  busy  man  will  the  miller  be 
At  dawning  of  the  day. 

"  '  Oh,  the  miller,  how  he  will  laugh 

When  he  sees  the  milldam  rise  ! 
The  jolly  old  miller,  how  he  will  laugh 
Till  the  tears  fill  both  his  eyes !  ' 

''  And  some  they  seized  the  little  winds 
That  sounded  over  the  hill ; 
And  each  put  a  horn  into  his  mouth, 
And  blew  both  loud  and  shrill. 

"  '  And  there,'  they  said,  *  the  merry  winds  go 
Away  from  every  horn  ; 
And  they  shall  clear  the  mildew  dark 
From  the  blind  old  widow's  corn. 

"  '  Oh,  the  poor,  blind  widow. 

Though  she  has  been  blind  so  long. 
She  '11  be  blithe  enough  when  the  mildew 's  gone 
And  the  corn  stands  tall  and  strong.* 

"  And  some  they  brought  the  brown  lint-seed, 
And  flung  it  down  from  the  Low  ; 


94       THE  FAIRIES   OF  THE   CALDON  LOW 

'  And  this,'  they  said,  '  by  the  sunrise, 
In  the  weaver's  croft  shall  grow. 

"  '  Oh,  the  poor,  lame  weaver, 
How  will  he  laugh  outright 
When  he  sees  his  dwindling  flax -field 
All  f  uU  of  flowers  by  night ! ' 

**  And  then  outspoke  a  brownie, 
With  a  long  beard  on  his  chin : 
*  I  have  spun  up  all  the  tow,'  said  he, 
'  And  I  want  some  more  to  spin. 

*' '  I  've  spun  a  piece  of  hempen  cloth, 
And  I  want  to  spin  another  ; 
A  little  sheet  for  Mary's  bed. 
And  an  apron  for  her  mother.' 

*'  With  that  I  could  not  help  but  laugh, 
And  I  laughed  out  loud  and  free ; 
And  then  on  the  top  of  the  Caldon  Low 
There  was  no  one  left  but  me. 

*'  And  all  on  the  top  of  the  Caldon  Low 
The  mists  were  cold  and  gray, 
And  nothing  I  saw  but  the  mossy  stones, 
That  round  about  me  lay. 

"  Bnt  coming  down  from  the  hilltop 
I  heard  afar  below 
How  busy  the  jolly  miller  was. 
And  how  the  wheel  did  go. 


THE  PHANTOM  SHIP  95 

"  And  I  peeped  into  the  widow's  field, 
And,  sure  enough,  were  seen 
The  yellow  ears  of  the  mildewed  corn 
AU  standing  stout  and  green. 

*'  And  down  by  the  weaver's  croft  I  stole, 
To  see  if  the  flax  were  sprung  ; 
And  I  met  the  weaver  at  his  gate, 
With  the  good  news  on  his  tongue. 

"  Now  this  is  all  I  heard,  mother, 
And  all  that  I  did  see  ; 
So,  prythee,  make  my  bed,  mother, 
For  I  'm  tired  as  I  can  be." 

Mary  Howitt„ 


THE  PHANTOM  SHIP 

In  Mather's  Magnalia  Christi, 

Of  the  old  colonial  time, 
May  be  found  in  prose  the  legend 

That  is  here  set  down  in  rhyme. 

A  ship  sailed  from  New  Haven, 
And  the  keen  and  frosty  airs, 

That  filled  her  sails  at  parting, 

Were  heavy  with  good  men's  prayers. 

«  0  Lord  !  if  it  be  thy  pleasure  "  — 
Thus  prayed  the  old  divine  — 

"  To  bury  our  friends  in  the  ocean, 
Take  them,  for  they  are  thine  !  " 


96  THE  PHANTOM  SHIP 

But  Master  Lamberton  muttered, 
And  under  his  breath  said  he, 
"  This  ship  is  so  crank  and  walty 
I  fear  our  grave  she  will  be  !  " 

And  the  ships  that  came  from  England, 
When  the  winter  months  were  gone, 

Brought  no  tidings  of  tliis  vessel, 
Nor  of  Master  Lamberton. 

This  put  the  people  to  praying 

That  the  Lord  would  let  them  hear 

What  in  his  greater  wisdom 

He  had  done  with  friends  so  dear. 

And  at  last  their  prayers  were  answered  s 
It  was  in  the  month  of  June, 

An  hour  before  the  sunset 
Of  a  windy  afternoon. 

When,  steadily  steering  landward, 

A  ship  was  seen  below, 
And  they  knew  it  was  Lamberton,  Master, 

Who  sailed  so  long  ago. 

On  she  came,  with  a  cloud  of  canvas. 
Right  against  the  wind  that  blew. 

Until  the  eye  could  distinguish 
The  faces  of  the  crew. 

Then  fell  her  straining  topmasts, 
Hanging  tangled  in  the  shrouds, 


THE  BAREFOOT  BOY  97 

And  her  sails  were  loosened  and  lifted, 
And  blown  away  like  clouds. 

And  the  masts,  with  all  their  rigging, 

Fell  slowly,  one  by  one. 
And  the  hulk  dilated  and  vanished, 

As  a  sea-mist  in  the  sun  ! 

And  the  people  who  saw  this  marvel 

Each  said  unto  his  friend, 
That  this  was  the  mould  of  their  vessel. 

And  thus  her  tragic  end. 

And  the  pastor  of  the  village 
Gave  thanks  to  God  in  prayer, 

That,  to  quiet  their  troubled  spirits, 
He  had  sent  this  Ship  of  Air. 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow, 


THE  BAREFOOT  ^^^  ji!/7^ 

Blessings  on  thee,  little  man, 
Barefoot  boy,  with  cheek  of  tan  ! 
With  thy  turned-up  pantaloons, 
And  thy  merry  whistled  tunes ; 
With  thy  red  lip,  redder  still 
Kissed  by  strawberries  on  the  hill ; 
With  the  sunshine  on  thy  face, 
Through  thy  torn  brim's  jaunty  grace  t 
From  my  heart  I  give  thee  joy,  — 
I  was  once  a  barefoot  boy  ! 


98  THE  BAREFOOT  BOY 

P/ince  thou  art,  —  the  grown-up  man 
Only  is  republican. 
Let  the  million-dollared  ride  ! 
Barefoot,  trudging  at  his  side, 
Thou  hast  more  than  he  can  buy 
In  the  reach  of  ear  and  eye,  — 
Outward  sunshine,  inward  joy  : 
Blessings  on  thee,  barefoot  boy ! 

0  for  boyhood's  painless  play, 
Sleep  that  wakes  in  laughing  day, 
Health  that  mocks  the  doctor's  rules, 
Knowledge  never  learned  of  schools, 
Of  the  wild  bee's  morning  chase, 
Of  the  wild-flower's  time  and  place, 
Flight  of  fowl,  and  habitude 
Of  the  tenants  of  the  wood  ; 
How  the  tortoise  bears  his  shell. 
How  the  woodchuck  digs  his  cell, 
And  the  ground-mole  sinks  his  well ; 
How  the  robin  feeds  her  young. 
How  the  oriole's  nest  is  hung ; 
Where  the  whitest  lilies  blow, 
Where  the  freshest  berries  grow, 
Where  the  groundnut  trails  its  vine. 
Where  the  wood-grape's  clusters  shine  | 
Of  the  black  wasp's  cunning  way, 
Mason  of  his  walls  of  clay, 
And  the  architectural  plans 
Of  gray  hornet  artisans  !  — 
For,  eschewing  books  and  tasks. 
Nature  answers  all  he  asks  ; 


TEE  BAREFOOT  BO  7  99 

Hand  in  hand  with  her  he  walks, 
Face  to  face  with  her  he  talks, 
Part  and  parcel  of  her  joy,  — 
Blessings  on  the  barefoot  boy  ! 

O  for  boyhood's  time  of  June, 
Crowding  years  in  one  brief  moon, 
When  aU  things  I  heard  or  saw, 
Me,  their  master,  waited  for  ! 
I  was  rich  in  flowers  and  trees. 
Humming-birds  and  honey-bees  ; 
For  my  sport  the  squirrel  played. 
Plied  the  snouted  mole  his  spade  ; 
For  my  taste  the  blackberry  cone 
Purpled  over  hedge  and  stone ; 
Laughed  the  brook  for  my  delight 
Through  the  day  and  through  the  night, 
Whispering  at  the  garden  wall, 
Talked  with  me  from  fall  to  fall ; 
Mine  the  sand-rimmed  pickerel  pond, 
Mine  the  walnut  slopes  beyond. 
Mine,  on  bending  orchard  trees. 
Apples  of  Hesperides ! 
Still  as  my  horizon  grew. 
Larger  grew  my  riches  too  ; 
All  the  world  I  saw  or  knew 
Seemed  a  complex  Chinese  toy, 
Fashioned  for  a  barefoot  boy  ! 

O  for  festal  dainties  spread, 
Like  my  bowl  of  milk  and  bread,  — 
Pewter  spoon  and  bowl  of  wood. 
On  the  door-stone,  gray  and  rude  ! 


too  THE  BAREFOOT  BOY 

O'er  me,  like  a  regal  tent, 
Cloudy-ribbed,  the  sunset  bent, 
Purple-curtained,  fringed  with  gold, 
Looped  in  many  a  wind-swung  fold ; 
While  for  music  came  the  play 
Of  the  pied  frogs'  orchestra  ; 
And,  to  light  the  noisy  choir. 
Lit  the  fly  his  lamp  of  fire. 
I  was  monarch  :  pomp  and  joy 
Waited  on  the  barefoot  boy  ! 

Cheerily,  then,  my  little  man, 
Live  and  laugh,  as  boyhood  can ! 
Though  the  flinty  slopes  be  hard, 
Stubble-speared  the  new-mown  sward, 
Every  morn  shall  lead  thee  through 
Fresh  baptisms  of  the  dew ; 
Every  evening  from  thy  feet 
Shall  the  cool  wind  kiss  the  heat : 
All  too  soon  these  feet  must  hide 
In  the  prison  cells  of  pride, 
Lose  the  freedom  of  the  sod. 
Like  a  colt's  for  work  be  shod, 
Made  to  tread  the  mills  of  toil, 
Up  and  down  in  ceaseless  moil : 
Happy  if  their  track  be  found 
Never  on  forbidden  ground  ; 
Happy  if  they  sink  not  in 
Quick  and  treacherous  sands  of  sin. 
Ah !  that  thou  couldst  know  thy  joy. 
Ere  it  passes,  barefoot  boy ! 

John  Greenleaf  Whittier. 


A   CRADLE  SONG  101 


A  CRADLE  SONG 


Hush,  my  dear  !  lie  still  and  slumber ; 

Holy  angels  guard  thy  bed, 
Heavenly  blessings  without  number 

Gently  falling  on  thy  head. 

Sleep,  my  babe !  thy  food  and  raiment, 
House  and  home,  thy  friends  provide  ; 

All,  without  thy  care  or  payment, 
All  thy  wants  are  well  supplied. 

How  much  better  thou  'rt  attended 

Than  the  Son  of  God  could  be. 
When  from  heaven  He  descended, 

And  became  a  child  like  thee  ! 

Soft  and  easy  is  thy  cradle  : 

Coarse  and  hard  thy  Saviour  lay, 
When  his  birthplace  was  a  stable. 

And  his  softest  bed  was  hay. 

See  the  kindly  shepherds  round  Him, 

Telling  wonders  from  the  sky  ! 
Where  they  sought  Him,  there  they  found  Him, 

With  his  Virgin  Mother  by. 

See  the  lovely  babe  a-dressing  : 

Lovely  infant,  how  He  smiled ! 
When  He  wept,  the  mother's  blessing 

Soothed  and  hushed  the  Huly  Child. 


102     THE  LAND   OF  STORY  BOOKS 

Lo,  He  slumbers  in  his  manger, 
Where  the  horn  fed  oxen  fed  ; 

Peace,  my  darling !  here  's  no  danger ; 
Here  's  no  ox  a-near  thy  bed. 

May'st  thou  live  to  know  and  fear  Him, 
Trust  and  love  Him  all  thy  days  ; 

Then  go  dwell  forever  near  Him  : 
See  his  face,  and  sing  his  praise ! 

I  could  give  thee  thousand  kisses, 
Hoping  what  I  most  desire  : 

Not  a  mother's  fondest  wishes 
Can  to  greater  joys  aspire. 


Isaac  Watts, 


THE  LAND   OF  STORY  BOOKS 

At  evening,  when  the  lamp  is  lit, 
Around  the  fire  my  parents  sit. 
They  sit  at  home,  and  talk  and  sing. 
And  do  not  play  at  anythmg. 

Now,  with  my  little  gun,  I  crawl 
All  in  the  dark  along  the  wall. 
And  follow  round  the  forest  track 
Away  behind  the  sofa  back. 

There,  in  the  night,  where  none  can  spy, 
All  in  my  hunter's  camp  I  lie, 
And  play  at  books  that  I  have  read 
Till  it  is  time  to  go  to  bed. 


ALADDIN  103 

These  are  the  hills,  these  are  the  woods, 
These  are  my  starry  solitudes, 
And  there  the  river,  by  whose  brink 
The  roaring  lions  come  to  drink. 

I  see  the  others  far  away, 
As  if  in  firelit  camp  they  lay, 
And  I,  like  to  an  Indian  scout, 
Around  their  party  prowled  about. 

So,  when  my  nurse  comes  in  for  me, 
Home  I  return  across  the  sea. 
And  go  to  bed  with  backward  looks 
At  my  dear  Land  of  Story  Books. 

Eobert  Louis  Stevensoru 


ALADDIN 

When  I  was  a  beggarly  boy, 

And  lived  in  a  cellar  damp, 

I  had  not  a  friend  nor  a  toy. 

But  I  had  Aladdin's  lamp  ; 
When  I  could  not  sleep  for  cold, 

I  had  fire  enough  in  my  brain, 
And  builded  with  roofs  of  gold 

My  beautiful  castles  in  Spain  ! 

Since  then  I  have  toiled  day  and  night, 
I  have  money  and  power  good  store, 

But  I  'd  give  all  my  lamps  of  silver  bright 
For  the  one  that  is  mine  no  more. 


104  THE  MERRY  LARK 

Take,  Fortune,  whatever  you  choose ; 

You  gave,  and  may  snatch  again : 
I  have  nothing  't  would  pain  me  to  lose, 

For  I  own  no  more  castles  in  Spain ! 

James  Russell  Lowell, 


THE  MERRY  LARK 

The  merry,  merry  lark  was  up  and  singing, 

And  the  hare  was  out  and  feeding  on  the  lea, 
And  the  merry,  merry  bells  below  were  ringing, 

When  my  child's  laugh  rang  through  me. 
Now  the  hare  is  snai*ed  and  dead  beside  the  snow- 
yard. 

And  the  lark  beside  the  dreary  winter  sea, 
And  my  baby  in  his  cradle  in  the  churchyard 

Waiteth  there  until  the  bells  bring  me. 

Charles  Kingsley. 

A  SPRING  LILT 

Through  the  silver  mist 

Of  the  blossom-spray 
Trill  the  orioles  :  list 
To  their  joyous  lay  ! 
"  What  in  all  the  world,  in  aU  the  world,"  they  say, 
"  Is  half  so  sweet,  so  sweet,   is  half  so  sweet  as 
May  ?  " 

"  June !  June  !  June  !  " 
Low  croon 


JOCK  OF  HAZELDEAN  105 

The  brown  bees  in  the  clover. 

"  Sweet !  sweet !  sweet !  " 
Repeat 
The  robins,  nested  over. 

Unknown,, 


JOCK  OF  HAZELDEAN 


"  Why  weep  ye  by  the  tide,  ladie  ? 

Why  weep  ye  by  the  tide  ? 
1 11  wed  ye  to  my  youngest  son, 

And  ye  sail  be  his  bride  : 
And  ye  sail  be  his  bride,  ladie, 

Sae  comely  to  be  seen  "  — 
But  aye  she  loot  the  tears  down  fa' 

For  Jock  of  Hazeldean. 

II 

"  Now  let  this  wilf  u'  grief  be  done, 

And  dry  that  cheek  so  pale  i 
Young  Frank  is  chief  of  Errington, 

And  lord  of  Langley-dale  ; 
His  step  is  first  in  peaceful  ha', 

His  sword  in  battle  keen  "  — 
But  aye  she  loot  the  tears  down  fa* 

For  Jock  of  Hazeldean. 

Ill 

*'  A  chain  of  gold  ye  sail  not  lack. 
Nor  braid  to  bind  your  hair ; 


106  CANADIAN  BOAT-SONG 

Nor  mettled  hound,  nor  managed  haw^k, 

Nor  palfrey  fresh  and  fair  ; 
And  you,  the  foremost  o'  them  a', 

Shall  ride  our  forest  queen  "  — 
But  aye  she  loot  the  tears  down  fa* 

For  Jock  of  Hazeldean. 

IV 

The  kirk  was  decked  at  morning-tide, 

The  tapers  glimmered  fair  ; 
The  priest  and  bridegroom  wait  the  bride, 

And  dame  and  knight  are  there  ; 
They  sought  her  baith  by  bower  and  ha'  — 

The  ladie  was  not  seen ! 
She  's  o'er  the  border,  and  awa' 

Wi'  Jock  of  Hazeldean. 

Sir  Walter  Scott. 

CANADIAN  BOAT-SONG  7X«rvv«-*»  M#*« 

Faintly  as  tolls  the  evening  chime, 

Our  voices  keep  tune,  and  our  oars  keep  time. 

Soon  as  the  woods  on  shore  look  dim, 

We  '11  sing  at  St.  Ann's  our  parting  hymn. 

Row,  brothers,  row !  the  stream  runs  fast, 

The  rapids  are  near,  and  the  daylight 's  past. 

Why  should  we  yet  our  sails  unfurl  ?  — 
There  is  not  a  breath  the  blue  wave  to  curl. 
But  when  the  wind  blows  off  the  shore 
Oh,  sweetly  we  '11  rest  our  weary  oar  ! 
Blow,  breezes,  blow  !  the  stream  runs  fast, 
The  rapids  are  near,  and  the  daylight 's  past. 


ROSE  AYLMER  —  ROSABELLE  107 

Utawa's  tide  !  this  trembling  moon 
Shall  see  us  float  over  thy  surges  soon. 
Saint  of  this  green  isle,  hear  our  prayers,  — 
Oh,  grant  us  cool  heavens  and  favoring  airs ! 
Blow,  breezes,  blow  !  the  stream  runs  fast, 
The  rapids  are  near,  and  the  daylight 's  past. 

Thomas  Moore. 


ROSE  AYLMER 

Ah  !  what  avails  the  sceptred  race, 

Ah !  what  the  form  divine  ! 
What  every  virtue,  every  grace  !  — 

Rose  Aylmer,  aU  were  thine. 

Rose  Aylmer,  whom  these  wakeful  eyes 

May  weep,  but  never  see, 
A  night  of  memories  and  sighs 

I  consecrate  to  thee. 

Walter  Savage  Landor. 

ROSABELLE 

Oh,  listen,  listen,  ladies  gay  ! 

No  haughty  feat  of  arms  I  tell ; 
Soft  is  the  note,  and  sad  the  lay 

That  mourns  the  lovely  Rosabelle. 

"  Moor,  moor  the  barge,  ye  gallant  crew, 
And,  gentle  lady,  deign  to  stay ! 
Rest  thee  in  Castle  Ravensheuch, 
Nor  tempt  the  stormy  firth  to-day. 


108  ROSABELLE 

"  The  blackening  wave  is  edged  with  white  ; 
To  inch  and  rock  the  sea-mews  fly  ; 
The  fishers  have  heard  the  Water-Sprite, 
Whose  screams  forebode  that  wreck  is  nigh. 

*'  Last  night  the  gifted  Seer  did  view 

A  wet  shroud  swathed  round  lady  gay  ; 
Then  stay  thee,  Fair,  in  Ravensheuch ; 
Why  cross  the  gloomy  firth  to-day  ?  " 

*'  'T  is  not  because  Lord  Lindesay's  heir 
To-night  at  Roslin  leads  the  ball ; 
But  that  my  lady  mother  there 
Sits  lonely  in  her  castle  hall. 


(( ' 


T  is  not  because  the  ring  they  ride, 
And  Lindesay  at  the  ring  rides  well, 

But  that  my  sire  the  wine  will  chide 
If  'tis  not  filled  by  Rosabelle." 

O'er  Roslin  all  that  weary  night 

A  wondrous  blaze  was  seen  to  gleam  ; 

'T  was  broader  than  the  watch-fire's  light, 
And  redder  than  the  bright  moonbeam. 

It  glared  on  Roslin's  castled  rock, 
It  ruddied  all  the  copse-wood  glen  ; 

'T  was  seen  from  Dryden's  groves  of  oak, 
And  seen  from  caverned  Hawthornden. 

Seemed  all  on  fire  that  chapel  proud, 
Where  Roslin's  chiefs  uncofBned  lie. 


RIME  OF  THE  ANCIENT  MARINER      109 

Each  Baron,  for  a  sable  shroud, 
Sheathed  in  his  iron  panoply. 

Seemed  all  on  fire  within,  around, 

Deep  sacristy  and  altar's  pale  ; 
Shone  every  pUlar  foliage-bound, 

And  glimmered  all  the  dead  men's  mailc 

Blazed  battlement  and  pinnet  high. 

Blazed  every  rose-carved  buttress  fair  — 

So  still  they  blaze,  when  fate  is  nigh 
The  lordly  Hne  of  high  Saint  Clair. 

There  are  twenty  of  Roslin's  barons  bold 
Lie  buried  within  that  proud  chapelle  ; 

Each  one  the  holy  vault  doth  hold,  — 
But  the  sea  holds  lovely  Rosabelle  ! 

And  each  Saint  Clair  was  buried  there 
With  candle,  with  book,  and  with  knell ; 

But  the  sea-caves  rung,  and  the  wild  winds  sung 
The  dirge  of  lovely  Rosabelle. 

iStV  Walter  Scott. 


RIME  OF  THE  ANCIENT  MARINER  i 

PART   I 

It  is  an  ancient  Mariner, 
And  he  stoppeth  one  of  three. 
"  By  thy  long  gray  beard  and  glittering  eye, 
Now  wherefore  stopp'st  thou  me  ? 

1  Note  11. 


C^jUa' 


110      RIME  OF  THE  ANCIENT  MARINER 

"  The  Bridegroom's  doors  are  opened  wide, 
And  I  am  next  of  kin ; 
The  guests  are  met,  the  feast  is  set : 
May'st  hear  the  merry  din !  " 

He  holds  him  with  his  skinny  hand, 
"  There  was  a  ship,"  quoth  he. 
"  Hold  off  !  unhand  me,  gray-heard  loon !  " 

Eftsoons  his  hand  dropt  he. 

He  holds  him  with  his  glittering  eye  :  — 
The  Wedding-Guest  stood  still. 
And  listens  like  a  three  years'  child : 
The  Mariner  hath  his  will. 

The  Wedding-Guest  sat  on  a  stone : 
He  cannot  choose  but  hear  ; 
And  thus  spake  on  that  ancient  man, 
The  bright-eyed  Mariner  :  — 

"  The  ship  was  cheered,  the  harbor  cleared ; 
Merrily  did  we  drop 
Below  the  kirk,  below  the  hill, 
Below  the  light-house  top. 

"  The  sun  came  up  upon  the  left, 
Out  of  the  sea  came  he ! 
And  he  shone  bright,  and  on  the  right 
Went  down  into  the  sea. 

*'  Higher  and  higher  every  day, 
Till  over  the  mast  at  noon  "  — 


RIME   OF  THE  ANCIENT  MARINER      111 

The  Wedding-Guest  here  beat  his  breast, 
For  he  heard  the  loud  bassoon. 

The  bride  hath  paced  into  the  hall, 
Red  as  a  rose  is  she  ; 
Nodding  their  heads  before  her  goes 
The  merry  minstrelsy. 

The  "Wedding-Guest  he  beat  his  breast, 
Yet  he  cannot  choose  but  hear  ; 
And  thus  spake  on  that  ancient  man, 
The  bright-eyed  Mariner  :  — 

"  And  now  the  storm-blast  came,  and  he 
Was  tyrannous  and  strong  : 
He  struck  with  his  o'ertaking  wings, 
And  chased  us  south  along. 

<«  With  sloping  masts  and  dipping  prow, 
As  who  pursued  with  yell  and  blow 
Still  treads  the  shadow  of  his  foe. 
And  forward  bends  his  head, 
The  ship  drove  fast,  loud  roared  the  blast, 
And  southward  aye  we  fled. 

"  And  now  there  came  both  mist  and  snow, 
And  it  grew  wondrous  cold  : 
And  ice,  mast-high,  came  floating  by, 
As  green  as  emerald. 

"  And  through  the  drifts  the  snowy  clifts 
Did  send  a  dismal  sheen : 


112      RIME   OF   THE  ANCIENT  MARINER 

Nor  shapes  of  men  nor  beasts  we  ken,  — 
The  ice  was  all  between. 

*'  The  ice  was  here,  the  ice  was  there, 
The  ice  was  all  around  : 

It  cracked  and  growled,  and  roared  and  howled. 
Like  noises  in  a  swound  ! 

"  At  length  did  cross  an  Albatross, 
Thorough  the  fog  it  came ; 
As  if  it  had  been  a  Christian  soul, 
We  hailed  it  in  God's  name. 

"  It  ate  the  food  it  ne'er  had  ate, 
And  round  and  round  it  flew :  — 
The  ice  did  split  with  a  thunder-fit ; 
The  helmsman  steered  us  through ! 

"  And  a  good  south  wind  sprung  up  behind ; 
The  Albatross  did  follow, 
And  every  day,  for  food  or  play, 
Came  to  the  mariners'  hollo ! 

"  In  mist  or  cloud,  on  mast  or  shroud. 
It  perched  for  vespers  nine  ; 
Whiles  all  the  night,  through  fog-smoke  white, 
Glimmered  the  white  moonshine." 

"  God  save  thee,  ancient  Mariner  ! 
From  the  fiends  that  plague  thee  thus  ! 
Why  look'st  thou  so  ?  "    "  With  my  cross-bow 
I  shot  the  Albatross." 


RIME   OF  THE  ANCIENT  MARINER      133 


PART  II 
«  The  sun  now  rose  upon  the  right : 
Out  of  the  sea  came  he 
Still  hid  in  mist,  and  on  the  left 
Went  down  into  the  sea. 

«  And  the  good  south  wind  still  blew  behind. 
But  no  sweet  bird  did  follow, 
Nor  any  day  for  food  or  play 
Came  to  the  mariners'  hollo ! 

«  And  I  had  done  a  hellish  thing, 
And  it  would  work  'em  woe : 
For  all  averred  I  had  killed  the  bird 
That  made  the  breeze  to  blow. 
Ah,  wretch !  said  they,  the  bird  to  slay, 
That  made  the  breeze  to  blow  ! 

"  Nor  dim  nor  red,  like  God's  own  head, 
The  glorious  sun  uprist : 
Then  all  averred  I  had  killed  the  bird 
That  brought  the  fog  and  mist :  — 
'T  was  right,  said  they,  such  birds  to  slay. 
That  bring  the  fog  and  mist. 

«  The  fair  breeze  blew,  the  white  foam  flew, 
The  furrow  followed  free  ; 
We  were  the  first  that  ever  burst 
Into  that  silent  sea. 

"  Down  dropt  the  breeze,  the  sails  dropt  down, 
'T  was  sad  as  sad  could  be  ; 


114      RIME   OF   THE  ANCIENT  MARINER 

And  we  did  speak  only  to  break 
The  silence  of  the  sea ! 

**  All  in  a  hot  and  copper  sky, 
The  bloody  sun,  at  noon, 
Right  up  above  the  mast  did  stand, 
No  bigger  than  the  moon. 

"  Day  after  day,  day  after  day. 
We  stuck,  nor  breath  nor  motion  j 
As  idle  as  a  painted  ship 
Upon  a  painted  ocean. 

''  "Water,  water,  everywhere. 
And  all  the  boards  did  shrink ; 
Water,  water,  everywhere, 
Nor  any  drop  to  drink. 

**  The  very  deep  did  rot :  O  Christ ! 
That  ever  this  should  be  ! 
Yea,  slimy  things  did  crawl  with  legs 
Upon  the  slimy  sea. 

**  About,  about,  in  reel  and  rout 
The  death-fires  danced  at  night ; 
The  water,  like  a  witch's  oils. 
Burnt  green,  and  blue,  and  white. 

*'  And  some  in  dreams  assured  were 
Of  the  spirit  that  plagued  us  so  ; 
Nine  fathom  deep  he  had  followed  us 
From  the  land  of  mist  and  snow. 


RIME   OF  THE  ANCIENT  MARINER      113 

**  And  every  tongue,  through  utter  drouth. 
Was  withered  at  the  root ; 
We  could  not  speak,  ilo  more  than  if 
We  had  been  choked  with  soot. 

*'  Ah !  well-a-day  !  what  evil  looks 
Had  I  from  old  and  young ! 
Instead  of  the  Cross,  the  Albatross 
About  my  neck  was  hung. 

PART   III 

"  There  passed  a  weary  time.     Each  throat 
Was  parched,  and  glazed  each  eye. 
A  weary  time !  a  weary  time  ! 
How  glazed  each  weary  eye  ! 
When,  looking  westward,  I  beheld 
A  something  in  the  sky. 

*'  At  first  it  seemed  a  little  speck, 
And  then  it  seemed  a  mist ; 
It  moved  and  moved,  and  took  at  last 
A  certain  shape,  I  wist ! 
A  speck,  a  mist,  a  shape,  I  wist ! 
And  still  it  neared  and  neared  : 
As  if  it  dodged  a  water-sprite. 
It  plunged  and  tacked  and  veered. 

**  With  throats  unslaked,  with  black  lips  baked. 
We  could  nor  laugh  nor  wail ; 
Through  utter  drouth  all  dumb  we  stood ! 
I  bit  my  arm,  I  sucked  the  blood, 
And  cried,  A  sail !  a  sail ! 


116      RIME   OF  THE  ANCIENT  MARINER 

"  With  throats  unslaked,  with  black  lips  baked, 
Agape  they  heard  me  call : 
Gramercy  !  they  for  joy  did  grin, 
And  all  at  once  then-  breath  drew  in, 
As  they  were  drinking  all. 

*'  See !  see  !   (I  cried)  she  tacks  no  more  ! 
Hither  to  work  us  weal, 
Without  a  breeze,  without  a  tide, 
She  steadies  with  upright  keel ! 

*'  The  western  wave  was  all  aflame. 
The  day  was  well-nigh  done  ! 
Almost  upon  the  western  wave 
Rested  the  broad,  bright  sun  ; 
When  that  strange  shape  drove  suddenly 
Betwixt  us  and  the  sun. 

*'  And  straight  the  sun  was  flecked  with  bars, 
(Heaven's  Mother  send  us  grace  !) 
As  if  through  a  dungeon-grate  he  peered 
With  broad  and  burning  face. 

**  Alas !  (thought  I,  and  my  heart  beat  loud) 
How  fast  she  nears  and  nears  ! 
Are  those  her  sails  that  glance  in  the  sun, 
Like  restless  gossameres  ? 

**  Are  those  her  ribs  through  which  the  sun 
Did  peer,  as  through  a  grate  ? 
And  is  that  Woman  all  her  crew  ? 
Is  that  a  Death  ?  and  are  there  two  ? 
Is  Death  that  Woman's  mate  ? 


RIME   OF  THE  ANCIENT  MARINER      117 

"  Her  lips  were  red,  her  looks  were  free, 
Her  locks  were  yellow  as  gold  : 
Her  skin  was  as  white  as  leprosy, 
The  Nightmare  Life-in-Death  was  she, 
Who  thicks  man's  blood  with  cold. 

"  The  naked  hulk  alongside  came, 

And  the  twain  were  casting  dice ; 
'  The  game  is  done  !     I  've  won  !    I  've  won !  * 
Quoth  she,  and  whistles  thrice, 

''  The  sun's  rim  dips  ;  the  stars  rush  out : 
At  one  stride  comes  the  dark ; 
With  far-heard  whisper,  o'er  the  sea, 
Off  shot  the  spectre-bark. 

"  We  listened  and  looked  sideways  up  ! 
Fear  at  my  heart,  as  at  a  cup, 
My  life-blood  seemed  to  sip  ! 
The  stars  were  dim,  and  thick  the  night ; 
The  steersman's  face  by  his  lamp  gleamed  white  ; 
From  the  sails  the  dew  did  drip. 
Till  clomb  above  the  eastern  bar 
The  horned  moon,  with  one  bright  star 
Within  the  nether  tip. 

"  One  after  one,  by  the  star-dogg'd  moon. 
Too  quick  for  groan  or  sigh, 
Each  turned  his  face  with  a  ghastly  pang, 
And  cursed  me  with  his  eye. 

"  Four  times  fifty  living  men, 
(And  I  heard  nor  sigh  nor  groan,) 


118      RIME  OF  THE  ANCIENT  MARINER 

With  heavy  thump,  a  lifeless  lump, 
They  dropt  down  one  by  one. 

"  The  souls  did  from  their  bodies  fly,  •^ 
They  fled  to  bliss  or  woe  ! 
And  every  soul,  it  passed  me  by 
Like  the  whizz  of  my  cross-bow." 

PART   IV 

**  I  fear  thee,  ancient  Mariner ! 
I  fear  thy  skinny  hand  ! 
And  thou  art  long,  and  lank,  and  brown, 
As  is  the  ribbed  sea-sand. 

"  I  fear  thee  and  thy  glittering  eye, 
And  thy  skinny  hand  so  brown." 

"  Fear  not,  fear  not,  thou  Wedding-Guest ! 
This  body  dropt  not  down. 

"  Alone,  alone  ;  all,  all  alone, 
Alone  on  a  wide,  wide  sea ! 
And  never  a  saint  took  pity  on 
My  soul  in  agony. 

"  The  many  men,  so  beautiful ! 
And  they  all  dead  did  lie : 
And  a  thousand,  thousand  slimy  things 
Lived  on ;  and  so  did  I. 

**  I  looked  upon  the  rotting  sea, 
And  drew  my  eyes  away  ; 
I  looked  upon  the  rotting  deck, 
And  there  the  dead  men  lay. 


RIME   OF  THE  ANCIENT  MARINER      119 

"  I  looked  to  heaven,  and  tried  to  pray ; 
But  or  ever  a  prayer  had  gusht, 
A  wicked  whisper  came,  and  made 
My  heart  as  dry  as  dust. 

"  I  closed  my  lids,  and  kept  them  close, 
And  the  balls  like  pulses  beat ; 
For  the  sky  and  the  sea,  and  the  sea  and  the 

sky 
Lay  like  a  load  on  my  weary  eye, 
And  the  dead  were  at  my  feet. 

"  The  cold  sweat  melted  from  their  limbs. 
Nor  rot  nor  reek  did  they  : 
The  look  with  which  they  looked  on  me 
Had  never  passed  away. 

"  An  orphan's  curse  would  drag  to  hell 
A  spirit  from  on  high  ; 
But,  oh  !  more  horrible  than  that 
Is  the  curse  in  a  dead  man's  eye ! 
Seven  days,  seven  nights,  I  saw  that  curse, 
And  yet  I  could  not  die. 

'*  The  moving  moon  went  up  the  sky. 
And  nowhere  did  abide  : 
Softly  slie  was  going  up, 
And  a  star  or  two  beside : 

"  Her  beams  bemocked  the  sultry  main, 
Like  April  hoar-frost  spread  ; 
But  where  the  ship's  huge  shadow  lay, 


120      BIME   OF   THE  ANCIENT  MARINER 

The  charmed  water  burnt  alway 
A  still  and  awful  red. 

"  Beyond  the  shadow  of  the  ship 
I  watclied  the  water-snakes : 
They  moved  in  tracks  of  shining  white, 
And  when  they  reared,  the  elfish  light 
Fell  off  in  hoary  flakes. 

"  Within  the  shadow  of  the  ship 
I  watched  their  rich  attire  : 
Blue,  glossy  green,  and  velvet  black, 
They  coiled  and  swam ;  and  every  track 
Was  a  flash  of  golden  fire. 

«  O,  happy  living  things !  no  tongue 
Their  beauty  might  declare  : 
A  spring  of  love  gushed  from  my  heart. 
And  I  blessed  them  unaware  : 
Sure  my  kind  saint  took  pity  on  me, 
And  I  blessed  them  unaware. 

"  The  selfsame  moment  I  could  pray  j 
And  from  my  neck  so  free 
The  Albatross  fell  off,  and  sank 
Like  lead  into  the  sea. 

PART  Y 

*"  Oh,  sleep !  it  is  a  gentle  thing, 
Beloved  from  pole  to  pole  ! 
To  Mary  Queen  the  praise  be  given  ! 
She  sent  the  gentle  sleep  from  heaven 
That  slid  into  my  soul. 


RIME  OF  THE  ANCIENT  MARINER      121 

"  The  silly  buckets  on  the  deck 
That  had  so  long  remained, 
I  dreamt  that  they  were  filled  with  dew ; 
And  when  I  awoke  it  rained. 

"  My  lips  were  wet,  my  throat  was  cold, 
My  garments  all  were  dank  ; 
Sure  I  had  drunken  in  my  dreams, 
And  still  my  body  drank. 

"  I  moved  and  could  not  feel  my  limbs ; 
I  was  so  light ;  almost 
I  thought  that  I  had  died  in  sleep 
And  was  a  blessed  ghost. 

"  And  soon  I  heard  a  roaring  wind  ; 
It  did  not  come  anear ; 
But  with  its  sound  it  shook  the  sails, 
That  were  so  thin  and  sere. 

"  The  upper  air  burst  into  life ! 
And  a  hundred  fire-flags  sheen, 
To  and  fro,  they  were  hurried  about ! 
And  to  and  fro,  and  in  and  out, 
The  wan  stars  danced  between. 

"  And  the  coming  wind  did  roar  more  loud, 
And  the  sails  did  sigh  like  sedge  ; 
And  the  rain   poured  down  from  one  black 

cloud ; 
The  moon  was  at  its  edge. 


122      RIME   OF  THE  ANCIENT  MARINER 

"  The  thick  black  cloud  was  cleft,  and  still 
The  moon  was  at  its  side  : 
Like  waters  shot  from  some  high  crag, 
The  lightning  fell  with  never  a  jag, 
A  river  steep  and  wide. 

"  The  loud  wind  never  reached  the  ship, 
Yet  now  the  ship  moved  on  ! 
Beneath  the  lightning  and  the  moon 
The  dead  men  gave  a  groan. 

"  They  groaned,  they  stirred,  they  all  uprose, 
Nor  spake,  nor  moved  their  eyes ; 
It  had  been  strange,  e'en  in  a  dream, 
To  have  seen  those  dead  men  rise. 

"  The  helmsman  steered,  the  ship  moved  on ; 
Yet  never  a  breeze  up-blew  ; 
The  mariners  all  'gan  work  the  ropes, 
Where  they  were  wont  to  do  ; 
They  raised  their  limbs  like  lifeless  tools,  — 
We  were  a  ghastly  crew  ! 

"  The  body  of  my  brother's  son 
Stood  by  me,  knee  to  knee  : 
The  body  and  I  pulled  at  one  rope. 
But  he  said  nought  to  me." 

"  I  fear  thee,  ancient  Mariner  !  " 
*'  Be  calm,  thou  Wedding-Guest ! 
'T  was  not  those  souls  that  fled  in  pain, 
Which  to  their  corses  came  again, 
But  a  troop  of  spirits  blest ; 


RIME   OF  THE  ANCIENT  MARINER      123 

"  For  when  it  dawned  they  dropped  their  arms, 
And  clustered  round  the  mast ; 
Sweet  sounds  rose  slowly  tlu-ough  their  mouths. 
And  from  their  bodies  passed. 

"  Around,  around,  flew  each  sweet  sound, 
Then  darted  to  the  sun  : 
Slowly  the  sounds  came  back  again, 
Now  mixed,  now  one  by  one. 

"  Sometimes  a-dropping  from  the  sky 
I  heard  the  skylark  sing ; 
Sometimes  all  little  birds  that  are, 
How  they  seemed  to  fill  the  sea  and  air 
"With  their  sweet  jargoning ! 

"  And  now  't  was  like  all  instruments, 
Now  like  a  lonely  flute  ; 
And  now  it  is  an  angel's  song, 
That  makes  the  heavens  be  mute. 

« It  ceased  ;  yet  still  the  sails  made  on 
A  pleasant  noise  till  noon, 
A  noise  like  of  a  hidden  brook 
In  the  leafy  month  of  June, 
That  to  the  sleeping  woods  all  night 
Singeth  a  quiet  tune. 

"  Till  noon  we  quietly  sailed  on. 
Yet  never  a  breeze  did  breathe  : 
Slowly  and  smootlily  went  the  ship? 
Moved  onward  from  beneath. 


124       RIME    OF  THE  ANCIENT  MARINER 

*'  Under  the  keel  nine  fathom  deep, 
From  the  land  of  mist  and  snow, 
The  spirit  slid ;  and  it  was  he 
That  made  the  ship  to  go. 
The  sails  at  noon  left  off  their  tune, 
And  the  ship  stood  stiU  also. 

*'  The  sun,  right  up  above  the  mast, 
Had  fixed  her  to  the  ocean  ; 
But  in  a  minute  she  'gan  stir, 
With  a  short,  uneasy  motion  — 
Backwards  and  forwards  half  her  lengthj 
With  a  short,  uneasy  motion. 

"  Then  like  a  pawing  horse  let  go. 
She  made  a  sudden  bound  ; 
It  flung  the  blood  into  my  head, 
And  I  fell  down  in  a  swound. 

*'  How  long  in  that  same  fit  I  lay, 
I  have  not  to  declare ; 
But  ere  my  living  life  returned, 
I  heard,  and  in  my  soul  discerned 
Two  voices  in  the  air. 

" '  Is  it  he  ?  '  quoth  one,  '  is  this  the  man  ? 
By  Him  who  died  on  cross, 
With  his  cruel  bow  he  laid  fuU  low 
The  harmless  Albatross. 

*'  The  spirit  who  bideth  by  himself 
In  the  land  of  mist  and  snow. 


RIME   OF  THE  ANCIENT  MARINER      125 

He  loved  the  bird  that  loved  the  man 
Who  shot  huB  with  his  bow.' 

"  The  other  was  a  softer  voice, 
As  soft  as  honey-dew  : 
Quoth  he,  '  The  man  hath  penance  done. 
And  penance  more  will  do.' 

PART   VI 

First  Voice 
"  *  But  tell  me,  tell  me  !  speak  again, 
Thy  soft  response  renewing, 
What  makes  that  ship  drive  on  so  fast  ? 
What  is  the  ocean  doing  ?  ' 

Second  Voice 
"  '  Still  as  a  slave  before  his  lord, 
The  ocean  hath  no  blast ! 
His  great  bright  eye  most  silently 
Up  to  the  moon  is  cast  — 

"  *  If  he  may  know  which  way  to  go : 
For  she  guides  him  smooth  or  grim : 
See,  brother,  see !  how  graciously 
She  looketh  down  on  him ! ' 

First  Voice 
"  '  But  why  drives  on  that  ship  so  fast. 
Without  or  wave  or  wind  ?  ' 

Second  Voice 
" '  The  air  is  cut  away  before, 
And  closes  from  behind. 


126      RIME   OF  THE  ANCIENT  MARINER 

"  *  Fly,  brother,  fly  !  more  high,  more  high  ! 
Or  we  shall  he  belated ; 
For  slow  and  slow  that  ship  will  go, 
When  the  Mariner's  trance  is  abated.' 

"  I  woke,  and  we  were  sailing  on 
As  in  a  gentle  weather  : 

'T  was  night,  calm  night,  the  moon  was  high ; 
The  dead  men  stood  together. 

"  All  stood  together  on  the  deck, 

For  a  charnel  dungeon  fitter  : 
,  All  fixed  on  me  their  stony  eyes, 

That  in  the  moon  did  glitter. 

"  The  pang,  the  curse,  with  which  they  died, 
Had  never  passed  away  : 
I  could  not  draw  my  eyes  from  theirs, 
Nor  turn  them  up  to  pray. 

"  And  now  this  spell  was  snapt :  once  more 
I  viewed  the  ocean  green, 
And  looked  far  forth,  yet  little  saw 
Of  what  had  else  been  seen,  — 

"  Like  one  that  on  a  lonesome  road 
Doth  walk  in  fear  and  dread. 
And,  having  once  turned  round,  walks  on. 
And  turns  no  more  his  head, 
Because  he  knows  a  frightful  fiend 
Doth  close  behind  him  tread. 


RIME   OF   THE  ANCIENT  MARINER      127 

♦'  But  soon  there  breathed  a  wind  on  me, 
Nor  sound  nor  motion  made  : 
Its  path  was  not  upon  the  sea, 
In  ripple  or  in  shade. 

*'  It  raised  my  hair,  it  fanned  my  cheek 
Like  a  meadow-gale  of  spring  : 
It  mingled  strangely  with  my  fears,  — 
Yet  it  felt  like  a  welcoming. 

«  Swiftly,  swiftly  flew  the  ship, 
Yet  she  sailed  softly,  too ; 
Sweetly,  sweetly  blew  the  breeze  — 
On  me  alone  it  blew. 

"  Oh,  dream  of  joy  i  is  this  indeed 
The  light-house  top  I  see  ? 
Is  this  the  hill  ?  is  this  the  kirk  ? 
Is  this  mine  own  countree  ? 

«'  We  drifted  o'er  the  harbor-bar, 
And  I  with  sobs  did  pray,  — 
<  Oh,  let  me  be  awake,  my  God ! 
Or  let  me  sleep  alway.' 

«  The  harbor-bay  was  clear  as  glass, 
So  smoothly  it  was  strewn  : 
And  on  the  bay  the  moonlight  lay. 
And  the  shadow  of  the  moon. 

«  The  rock  shone  bright,  the  kirk  no  less 
That  stands  above  the  rock : 


128      RIME   OF   THE  ANCIENT  MARINER 

The  moonlight  steeped  in  silentness 
The  steady  weather-cock. 

"  And  the  hay  was  white  with  silent  light  s 
Till,  rising  from  the  same, 
Full  many  shapes,  that  shadows  were, 
In  crimson  colors  came. 

"  A  little  distance  from  the  prow 
Those  crimson  shadows  were  : 
I  turned  my  eyes  upon  the  deck  — 

0  Christ !  what  saw  I  there  ! 

*'  Each  corse  lay  flat,  lifeless  and  flat, 
And,  by  the  holy  rood  ! 
A  man  all  light,  a  seraph-man, 
On  every  corse  there  stood. 

^^  This  seraph-band,  each  waved  his  hand : 
It  was  a  heavenly  sight ! 
They  stood  as  signals  to  the  land, 
Each  one  a  lovely  light. 

"  This  seraph-band,  each  waved  his  hand^, 
No  voice  did  they  impart,  — 
No  voice ;  but  oh,  the  silence  sank 
Like  music  on  my  heart. 

'^^  But  soon  I  heard  the  dash  of  oars  ; 

1  heard  the  Pilot's  cheer  ; 

My  head  was  turned  perforce  away, 
And  I  saw  a  boat  appear. 


RIME  OF  THE  ANCIENT  MARINER        129 

«  The  Pilot,  and  the  Pilot's  boy, 
I  heard  them  coming  fast : 
Dear  Lord  in  Heaven  !  it  was  a  joy 
The  dead  men  could  not  blast. 

"  I  saw  a  third  —  I  heard  his  voice : 
It  is  the  Hermit  good  ! 
He  singeth  loud  his  godly  hymns 
That  he  makes  in  the  wood. 
He  '11  shrieve  my  soul,  he  '11  wash  away 
The  Albatross's  blood. 

PART   VII 

"  This  Hermit  good  lives  in  that  wood 
Which  slopes  down  to  the  sea : 
How  loudly  his  sweet  voice  he  rears ! 
He  loves  to  talk  with  marineres 
That  come  from  a  far  countree. 

"  He  kneels  at  morn,  and  noon,  and  eve,  — = 
He  hath  a  cushion  plump  : 
It  is  the  moss  that  wholly  hides 
The  rotted  old  oak  stump. 

"  The  skiff-boat  neared  :  I  heard  them  talk  : 
'  Why,  this  is  strange,  I  trow  ! 
Where  are  those  lights  so  many  and  fair, 
That  signal  made  but  now  ? ' 

■^^  *  Strange,  by  my  faith,'  the  Hermit  said  — 
*  And  they  answered  not  our  cheer ! 
The  planks  look  warped  !  and  see  those  sails. 
How  thin  they  are  and  sere  ! 


130      RIME   OF  THE  ANCIENT  MARINER 

I  never  saw  aught  like  to  them, 
Unless  perchance  it  were 

"  '  Brown  skeletons  of  leaves  that  lag 
My  forest  brook  along  ; 
When  the  ivy-tod  is  heavy  with  snow, 
And  the  owlet  whoops  to  the  wolf  below^ 
That  eats  the  she-wolf's  young.' 

"  *  Dear  Lord  !  it  hath  a  fiendish  look,' 
The  Pilot  made  reply, 
*  I  am  a-f eared.'     '  Push  on,  push  on  !  * 
Said  the  Hermit  cheerily. 

"  The  boat  came  closer  to  the  ship, 
But  I  nor  spake  nor  stirred  ; 
The  boat  came  close  beneath  the  ship. 
And  straight  a  sound  was  heard :  — 

*'  Under  the  water  it  rumbled  on, 
Still  louder  and  more  dread  : 
It  reached  the  ship,  it  split  the  bay ; 
The  ship  went  down  like  lead ! 

"  Stunned  by  that  loud  and  dreadful  sound, 
Which  sky  and  ocean  smote. 
Like  one  that  hath  been  seven  days  drowned 
My  body  lay  afloat ; 
But  swift  as  dreams,  myself  I  found 
Within  the  Pilot's  boat. 

^'  Upon  the  whirl,  where  sank  the  ship, 
The  boat  spun  round  and  round  ; 


RIME   OF  TEE  ANCIENT  MARINER      131 

And  all  was  still,  save  that  the  hill 
Was  telling  of  the  sound. 

"  I  moved  my  lips  —  the  Pilot  shrieked, 
And  fell  down  in  a  fit  : 
The  holy  Hermit  raised  his  eyes, 
And  prayed  where  he  did  sit. 

"  I  took  the  oars :  the  Pilot's  boy, 
Who  now  doth  crazy  go, 
Laughed  loud  and  long,  and  all  the  while 
His  eyes  went  to  and  fro. 
'  Ha !  ha  !  '  quoth  he,  '  full  plain  I  see 
The  Devil  knows  how  to  row.' 

"  And  now,  all  in  my  own  countree, 
I  stood  on  the  firm  land ! 
The  Hermit  stepped  forth  from  the  boat, 
And  scarcely  he  could  stand. 

^'* '  O  shrieve  me,  shrieve  me,  holy  man ! ' 
The  Hermit  crossed  his  brow  : 
*  Say  quick,'  quoth  he,  '  I  bid  thee  say 
What  manner  of  man  art  thou  ?  ' 

"  Forthwith  this  frame  of  mine  was  wrenched 
With  a  woful  agony. 
Which  forced  me  to  begin  my  tale ; 
And  then  it  left  me  free. 

*'  Since  then,  at  an  uncertain  hour. 
That  agony  returns : 


132      RIME   OF  THE  ANCIENT  MARINER 

And  till  my  ghastly  tale  is  told, 
This  heart  within  me  burns. 

"  I  pass,  like  night,  from  land  to  land  % 
I  have  strange  power  of  speech ; 
The  moment  that  his  face  I  see, 
I  know  the  man  that  must  hear  me : 
To  him  my  tale  I  teach. 

**  What  loud  uproar  bursts  from  that  doorS 
The  wedding  guests  are  there ; 
But  in  the  garden  bower  the  bride 
And  bridemaids  singing  are  : 
And  hark  the  little  vesper  hell, 
Which  biddeth  me  to  prayer ! 

*'  O  Wedding-Guest !  this  soul  hath  been 
Alone  on  a  wide,  wide  sea  : 
So  lonely  't  was,  that  God  himself 
Scarce  seembd  there  to  be. 

**  Oh,  sweeter  than  the  marriage-feast, 
'T  is  sweeter  far  to  me 
To  walk  together  to  the  kirk 
With  a  goodly  company ! 

*'^  To  walk  together  to  the  kirk, 
And  all  together  pray, 
While  each  to  his  great  Father  bends, 
Old  men,  and  babes,  and  loving  friendSy 
And  youths  and  maidens  gay  ! 


THE  LASS   OF  LOCHROYAN  133 

"  Farewell,  farewell !  but  this  I  tell 
To  thee,  thou  Wedding-Guest ! 
He  prayeth  well  who  loveth  well 
Both  man,  and  bird,  and  beast. 

"  He  prayeth  best,  who  loveth  best 
All  things  both  great  and  small ; 
For  the  dear  God  who  loveth  us, 
He  made  and  loveth  all." 

The  Mariner,  whose  eye  is  bright, 
Whose  beard  with  age  is  hoar, 
Is  gone  :  and  now  the  Wedding-Guest 
Turned  from  the  bridegroom's  door. 

He  went  like  one  that  hath  been  stunned, 
And  is  of  sense  forlorn  : 
A  sadder  and  a  wiser  man. 
He  rose  the  morrow  morn. 

Samuel  Taylor  ColeridgCo 

THE  LASS  OF  LOCHROYAN 

"  Oh,  who  will  shoe  my  bonny  foot, 
And  who  will  glove  my  hand  ? 
And  who  will  lace  my  middle  jimp 
Wi'  a  long,  long,  linen  band  ? 

*'  Or  who  will  kaim  my  yellow  hair 
Wi'  a  new-made  silver  kaim  ? 
Oh,  who  will  father  my  young  son 
Till  Lord  Gregory  comes  hame? 


134  THE  LASS  OF  LOCJIROYAN 

"  Oh,  if  I  had  a  bonny  ship, 
And  men  to  sail  wi'  me. 
It 's  I  would  gang  to  my  true  Loye, 
Since  he  winna  come  to  me  !  " 

Then  she  's  gar'd  build  a  bonny  boat 

To  sail  the  salt,  salt  sea  : 
The  sails  were  of  the  light-green  sUk, 

And  the  ropes  of  taffetie. 

She  had  not  been  on  the  sea  sailing 

About  a  month  or  more, 
TiU  landed  has  she  her  bonny  ship 

Near  to  her  true  Love's  door. 

She  's  ta'en  her  young  son  in  her  arms, 

And  to  the  door  she  's  gane  ; 
And  long  she  knocked,  and  sair  she  calledj, 

But  answer  got  she  nane. 

"  Oh,  open  the  door,  Lord  Gregory  ! 
Oh,  open,  and  let  me  in  ! 
For  the  wind  blows  through  my  yeUow  hair. 
And  the  rain  drops  o'er  my  chin." 

Long  stood  she  at  Lord  Gregory's  door, 

And  long  she  tirled  the  pin ; 
At  length  up  gat  his  false  mother, 

Says,  "  Who  's  that,  would  be  in  ?  '* 

^Oh,  it's  Annie  of  Lochroyan, 
Your  Love,  come  o'er  the  sea. 


THE  LASS   OF  LOCHROYAN  HS 

But  and  your  young  son  In  her  arms ; 
So  open  the  door  to  me." 

"  Away,  away,  ye  ill  woman  ! 

You  're  not  come  here  for  gude ; 
You  're  but  a  witch,  or  a  vile  warlock. 
Or  a  meiTuaid  o'  the  flood." 

"  I  'm  no  a  witch,  nor  vile  warlock. 

Nor  mermaiden,"  said  she  ; 
"  But  I  am  Annie  of  Lochroyan, — 

Oh,  open  the  door  to  me  !  " 

"  If  thou  be  Annie  of  Lochroyan, 
(As  I  trow  ye  binna  she), 
Now  tell  me  some  of  the  love-tokens 
That  passed  'tween  me  and  thee." 

"  Oh,  dinna  ye  mind.  Lord  Gregory, 
As  we  sat  at  the  wine. 
How  we  changed  the  rings  from  our  fingerSj 
And  I  can  show  thee  thine  ? 

"  Oh,  yours  was  good,  and  good  enough, 
But  not  so  good  as  mine  ; 
For  yours  was  o'  the  good  red  gold, 
But  mine  of  the  diamond  fine. 

*'  So  open  the  door,  Lord  Gregory, 
And  open  it  with  speed  ; 
Or  your  young  son  that 's  in  my  arms 
For  cold  will  soon  be  dead." 


136  THE  LASS   OF  LOCUROYAN 

*'  Away,  away,  ye  ill  woman  ! 

Go  from  my  door  for  shame ! 
For  I  have  gotten  another  Love, 
So  you  may  hie  you  hame." 

Fair  Annie  turned  hei*  round  about ; 

"  Well !  since  that  it  be  sae, 
May  never  a  woman,  that  has  borne  a  soDy 

Have  a  heart  so  full  of  wae  ! 

**  Take  down,  take  down,  the  mast  of  gold, 
Set  up  the  mast  o'  tree  ; 
It  ill  becomes  a  forsaken  lady 
To  sail  so  gallantlie." 

Lord  Gregory  started  from  his  sleep, 
And  to  his  mother  did  say, 
*'  I  dreamt  a  dream,  this  night,  mother, 
That  makes  my  heart  right  wae. 

"  I  dreamt  that  Annie  of  Lochroyan, 
The  flower  of  all  her  kin, 
E'en  now  was  standing  at  my  door, 
But  none  would  let  her  in." 

^'  Oh,  there  was  a  woman  stood  at  the  door, 
With  a  bairn  intill  her  arm  ; 
But  I  could  not  let  her  come  within, 
For  fear  she  had  done  you  harm." 

"  O  wae  betide  ye,  ill  woman  J 
An  ill  death  may  ye  dee, 


THE  LASS   OF  LOCHROYAN  137 

That  wadna  open  the  door  to  her, 
Nor  yet  would  waken  me  !  " 

Oh,  he  's  gone  down  to  yon  shore  side 

As  fast  as  he  could  fare  ; 
He  saw  fair  Annie  in  the  boat, 

But  the  wind  it  tossed  her  sair. 

And  *'  Hey,  Annie !  "  and  "  How,  Annie  I 

O  Annie,  winna  ye  bide  ?  " 
But  aye  the  mair  he  cried  "  Annie," 

The  broader  grew  the  tide. 

And  "  Hey,  Annie !  "  and  "  How,  Annie  I 

O  Annie,  speak  to  me  !  " 
But  aye  the  louder  he  cried  "  Annie," 

The  louder  roared  the  sea. 

The  wind  blew  loud,  the  sea  grew  rough. 
And  the  ship  was  rent  in  twain  : 

And  soon  he  saw  his  fair  Annie 
Come  floating  o'er  the  main. 

He  saw  his  young  son  in  her  arms. 

Both  tossed  above  the  tide  ; 
He  wrang  his  hands,  and  fast  he  ran 

And  plunged  in  the  sea  sae  wide. 

He  catched  her  by  the  yellow  hair, 

And  drew  her  up  on  the  sand  ; 
But  cold  and  stiff  was  every  limb 

Before  he  reached  the  land. 


138  SONG 

And  then  he  kissed  her  on  the  cheek, 

And  kissed  her  on  the  chin  ; 
And  sair  he  kissed  her  on  the  lips  : 

But  there  was  no  breath  within. 

"  Oh,  wae  betide  my  cruel  mother  ! 
An  ill  death  may  she  dee  ! 
She  turned  fair  Annie  from  my  door, 
Wha  died  for  love  of  me  !  " 

Unknown, 

^Q  LUCASTA.   ON  GOING  TO   THE  WARS 

Tell  me  not  (sweet)  I  am  unkind, 

That  from  the  nunnery 
Of  thy  chaste  breast  and  quiet  mind 

To  war  and  arms  I  fly. 

True,  a  new  mistress  now  I  chase, 

The  first  foe  in  the  field ; 
And  with  a  stronger  faith  embrace 

A  sword,  a  horse,  a  shield. 

Yet  this  inconstancy  is  such, 

As  you,  too,  shall  adore  ; 
I  could  not  love  thee,  dear,  so  much, 

Loved  I  not  honor  more. 

Richard  Lovelace, 


SONG   .J-(»>#^ 


Under  the  greenwood  tree 
Who  loves  to  lie  with  me, 


TO  A   SKYLARK  139 

And  tune  his  merry  note 
Unto  the  sweet  bird's  throat,  — 
Come  hither,  come  hither,  come  hither ! 
Here  shall  we  see 
No  enemy 
But  winter  and  rough  weather. 

"Who  doth  ambition  shun 
And  loves  to  live  i'  the  sun, 
Seeking  the  food  he  eats 
And  pleased  with  what  he  gets  — 
Come  hither,  come  hither,  come  hither ! 
Here  shall  he  see 
No  enemy 
But  winter  and  rough  weather. 

Shakespeare,, 

TO  A  SKYLARK  ^i^jXi^ 

Hail  to  thee,  blithe  spirit !  — 

Bird  thou  never  wert  — 
That  from  heaven,  or  near  it, 

Pourest  thy  full  heart 
1 1  profuse  strains  of  unpremeditated  art. 

Higher  still  and  higher 

From  the  earth  thou  springest : 
Like  a  cloud  of  fire, 

Tlie  blue  deep  thou  wingest. 
And  singing  still  dost  soar,  and  soaring  ever  singest. 

In  the  golden  lightning 
Of  the  sunken  sun, 


140  TO  A  SKYLARK 

O'er  which  clouds  are  brightening, 
Thou  dost  float  and  run, 
Like  an  unbodied  joy  whose  race  is  just  begun. 

The  pale  purple  even 

Melts  around  thy  flight; 
Like  a  star  of  heaven 

In  the  broad  daylight, 
Thou  art  unseen,  but  yet  I  hear  thy  shrill  delight. 

Keen  as  are  the  arrows 

Of  that  silver  sphere 
Whose  intense  lamp  narrows 

In  the  white  dawn  clear, 
Until  we  hardly  see,  we  feel,  that  it  is  there. 

All  the  earth  and  air 

With  thy  voice  is  loud. 
As,  when  night  is  bare, 
From  one  lonely  cloud 
The  moon  rains  out  her  beams,  and  heaven  is  over« 
flowed. 

What  thou  art  we  know  not ; 

What  is  most  like  thee  ? 
From  rainbow  clouds  there  flow  not 

Drops  so  bright  to  see 
As  from  thy  presence  showers  a  rain  of  melody. 

Like  a  poet  hidden 

In  the  light  of  thought, 
Singing  hynons  unbidden, 


TO  A  SKYLARK  141 

Till  the  world  is  wrought 
To  sympathy  with  hopes  and  fears  it  heeded  not : 

Like  a  high-born  maiden 

In  a  palace  tower, 
Soothing  her  love-laden 
Soul  in  secret  hour 
With  music  sweet   as   love   which  overflows   her 
bower : 

Like  a  glow-worm  golden 

In  a  dell  of  dew, 
Scattering  unbeholden 
Its  aerial  hue 
Among  the  flowers  and  grass  which  screen  it  from 
the  view : 

Like  a  rose  embowered 

In  its  own  green  leaves, 
By  warm  winds  deflowered, 
Till  the  scent  it  gives 
Makes   faint  with  too  much   sweet   these   heavy- 
wingfed  thieves. 

Sound  of  vernal  showers 

On  the  twinkling  grass, 
Rain-awakened  flowers. 
All  that  ever  was 
Joyous,  and   clear,    and   fresh,  — thy   music    doth 
surpass. 

Teach  us,  sprite  or  bird, 

What  sweet  thoughts  are  thine : 


142  TO  A   SKYLARK 

I  have  never  heard 
Praise  o£  love  or  wine 
That  panked  forth  a  flood  of  rapture  so  divine. 

Chorus  hymeneal 

Or  triumphal  chaunt, 
Matched  with  thine,  would  he  all 
But  an  empty  vaunt,  — 
A  thing  wherein  we  feel  there  is  some  hidden  want 

What  objects  are  the  fountains 

Of  thy  happy  strain  ? 
What  fields,  or  waves,  or  mountains  ? 
What  shapes  of  sky  or  plain  ? 
What  love  of  thine  own  kind  ?  what  ignorance  of 
pain  ? 

With  thy  clear,  keen  joyance 

Languor  cannot  be : 
Shadow  of  annoyance 
Never  came  near  thee  : 
Thou  lovest,  but  ne'er  knew  love's  sad  satiety. 

Waking  or  asleep, 

Thou  of  death  must  deem 
Things  more  true  and  deep 
Than  we  mortals  dream, 
Or   how  could    thy  notes   flow  in  such   a   crystal 
stream  ? 

We  look  before  and  after. 
And  pine  for  what  is  not : 


THE  NIGHT  PIECE  143 

Our  sincerest  laughter 
"With  some  pain  is  fraught ; 
Our  sweetest  songs  are  those  that  tell  of  saddest 
thought. 

Yet,  if  we  could  scorn 

Hate  and  pride  and  fear, 
If  we  were  things  born 

Not  to  shed  a  tear, 
I  know  not  how  thy  joy  we  ever  should  come  near. 

Better  than  all  measures 

Of  delightful  sound. 
Better  than  all  treasures 
That  in  books  are  found, 
Thy  skill  to  poet  were,  thou  scorner  of  the  ground ! 

Teach  me  half  the  gladness 

That  thy  brain  must  know  ; 
Such  harmonious  madness 
From  my  lips  would  flow 
The  world  should  listen  then  as  I  am  listening  now  I 

Percy  Bysshe  Shelley. 


il^ 


THE  NIGHT  PIECE 


Her  eyes  the  glow-worm  lend  thee, 
The  shooting  stars  attend  thee  ; 

And  the  elves  also. 

Whose  little  eyes  glow 
Like  the  sparks  of  fire,  befriend  thee. 


144  GO,   LOVELY  ROSE 

No  will-o'-tli'-wisp  mislight  thee, 
Nor  snake  or  slow-worm  bite  thee ; 

But  on,  on  thy  way. 

Not  making  a  stay. 
Since  ghost  there  is  none  to  afPright  thee. 

Let  not  the  dark  thee  cumber  ; 
What  though  the  moon  does  slumber? 

The  stars  of  the  night 

Will  lend  thee  their  light, 
Like  tapers  clear,  without  number. 

Then,  Julia,  let  me  woo  thee, 
Thus,  thus  to  come  unto  me ; 

And  when  I  shall  meet 

Thy  silvery  feet, 
My  soul  I  '11  pour  into  thee. 

Bobert  Herrick. 

GO,  LOVELY  ROSE    lAJdjJj^ 

Go,  lovely  rose ! 
Tell  her  that  wastes  her  time  and  me, 

That  now  she  knows, 
When  I  resemble  her  to  thee. 
How  sweet  and  fair  she  seems  to  be. 

Tell  her  that 's  young. 
And  shuns  to  have  her  graces  spied, 

That  hadst  thou  sprimg 
In  deserts,  where  no  men  abide. 
Thou  must  have  uncommended  died. 


BOME  Tnotjonrs  from  abroad      145 

Small  is  the  worth 
Of  heauty  from  the  light  retired : 

Bid  her  come  forth. 
Suffer  herself  to  be  desired, 
And  not  blush  so  to  be  admired. 

Then  die  !  that  she 
The  common  fate  of  all  things  rare 

May  read  in  thee  : 
How  small  a  part  of  time  they  share 
That  are  so  wondrous  sweet  and  fair  ! 

Edmund  Waller. 


HOME  THOUGHTS  FROM   ABROAD  *0£^a^^**^t»^ 

Oh,  to  be  in  England, 

Now  that  April's  there, 

And  whoever  wakes  in  England 

Sees,  some  morning,  unaware. 

That  the  lowest  boughs  and  the  brushwood  sheaf 

Round  the  elm-tree  bole  are  in  tiny  leaf, 

While  the  chaffinch  sings  on  the  orchard  bough 

In  England  —  now  ! 

And  after  April  when  May  follows, 
And  the  whitethroat  builds,  and  all  the  swallows  — 
Hark !  where  my  blossomed  pear-tree  in  the  hedge 
Leans  to  the  field,  and  scatters  on  the  clover 
Blossoms    and    dewdrops,  —  at    the    bent    spray'9 

edge,  — 
That 's  the  wise  thrush ;  he  sings  each  song  twice 

over, 


146  ROBIN  REDBREAST 

Lest  you  should  think  he  never  could  recapture 
The  first  fine  careless  rapture. 
And  though  the  fields  look  rough  with  hoary  dew, 
All  will  be  gay  when  noontide  wakes  anew 
The  buttercups,  the  little  children's  dower, 
Far  brighter  than  this  gaudy  melon  flower. 

Bobert  Browning, 


ROBIN  REDBREAST 

GOOD-BY,  good-by  to  summer  ! 
For  summer  's  nearly  done  ; 
The  garden  smiling  faintly, 
Cool  breezes  in  the  sun  ; 
Our  thrushes  now  are  silent, 

Our  swallows  flown  away,  — 
But  Robin  's  here  with  coat  of  browns 
And  ruddy  breast-knot  gay. 
Robin,  Robin  Redbreast, 

O  Robin  dear ! 
Robin  sings  so  sweetly 
In  the  falling  of  the  year. 

Bright  yellow,  red,  and  orange, 

The  leaves  come  down  in  hosts  ; 
The  trees  are  Indian  princes, 

But  soon  they  '11  turn  to  ghosts ; 
The  scanty  pears  and  apples 

Hang  russet  on  the  bough  ; 
It 's  autumn,  autumn,  autumn  late, 

'T  will  soon  be  winter  now. 


ELEGY  142 

Robin,  Robin  Redbreast, 

O  Robin  dear ! 
And  what  will  this  poor  Robin  do  ? 

For  pinching  days  are  near. 

The  fireside  for  the  cricket, 

The  wheatstack  for  the  mouse, 
When  trembling  night-winds  whistle 

And  moan  all  round  the  house. 
The  frosty  ways  like  iron, 

The  branches  plumed  with  snow, — 
Alas  !  in  winter  dead  and  dark. 
Where  can  poor  Robin  go  ? 
Robin,  Robin  Redbreast, 

O  Robin  dear ! 
And  a  crumb  of  bread  for  Robin, 
His  httle  heart  to  cheer ! 

William.  Allingham. 

ELEGY  WRITTEN  IN  A  COUNTRY  CHURCH- 
YARD i  ^/^^ 

The  curfew  toUs  the  kneU  of  parting  day, 
The  lowing  herd  wind  slowly  o'er  the  lea, 
The  ploughman  homeward  plods  his  weary  way, 
And  leaves  the  world  to  darkness  and  to  me. 

Now  fades  the  glimmering  landscape  on  the  sightr 
And  all  the  air  a  solemn  stillness  holds, 
Save  where  the  beetle  wheels  his  droning  flight. 
And  drowsy  tinklings  lull  the  distant  folds ; 
1  Note  12. 


148  ELEGY 

Save  that  from  yonder  ivy-mantled  tower 
The  moping  owl  does  to  the  moon  complain 
Of  such  as,  wandering  near  her  secret  bower, 
Molest  her  ancient,  solitary  reign. 

Beneath  those  rugged  elms,  that  yew-tree's  shade, 
Where  heaves  the  turf  in  many  a  mouldering  heap, 
Each  in  his  narrow  cell  forever  laid. 
The  rude  forefathers  of  the  hamlet  sleep. 

The  breezy  call  of  incense-breathing  morn. 
The  swallow  twittering  from  the  straw-built  shed. 
The  cock's  shrill  clarion,  or  the  echoing  horn, 
No  more  shall  rouse  them  from  their  lowly  bed. 

For  them  no  more  the  blazing  hearth  shall  burn, 
Or  busy  housewife  ply  her  evening  care, 
No  children  run  to  lisp  their  sire's  return, 
Or  climb  his  knees  the  envied  kiss  to  share. 

Oft  did  the  harvest  to  their  sickle  yield, 
Their  furrow  oft  the  stubborn  glebe  has  broke  ; 
How  jocund  did  they  drive  their  team  afield  ! 
How  bowed  the  woods  beneath  their  sturdy  stroke ! 

Let  not  Ambition  mock  their  useful  toil, 
Their  homely  joys,  and  destiny  obscure  ; 
Nor  Grandeur  hear  with  a  disdainful  smile 
The  short  and  simple  annals  of  the  poor. 

The  boast  of  heraldry,  the  pomp  of  power, 
And  all  that  beauty,  all  that  wealth  e'er  gave, 


ELEGY  149 

Await  alike  the  inevitable  hour  : 

The  paths  of  glory  lead  but  to  the  grave. 

Nor  you,  ye  proud,  impute  to  these  the  fault, 
If  Memory  o'er  their  tomb  no  trophies  raise, 
Where  thro'  the  long-drawn  aisle  and  fretted  vault 
The  pealing  anthem  swells  the  note  of  praise. 

Can  storied  urn  or  animated  bust 

Back  to  its  mansion  call  the  fleeting  breath  ? 

Can  Honor's  voice  provoke  the  silent  dust, 

Or  Flattery  soothe  the  dull,  cold  ear  of  Death  ? 

Perhaps  in  this  neglected  spot  is  laid 
Some  heart  once  pregnant  with  celestial  fire, 
Hands  that  the  rod  of  empire  might  have  swayed, 
Or  waked  to  ecstasy  the  living  lyre : 

But  Knowledge  to  their  eyes  her  ample  page, 
Rich  with  the  spoils  of  time,  did  ne'er  unroll ; 
Chill  Penury  repressed  their  noble  rage, 
And  froze  the  genial  current  of  the  soul. 

Full  many  a  gem  of  purest  ray  serene 
The  dark,  unf  athomed  caves  of  ocean  bear  % 
Full  many  a  flower  is  born  to  blush  unseen, 
And  waste  its  sweetness  on  the  desert  air. 

Some  village  Hampden,  that  with  dauntless  breast 
The  little  tyrant  of  his  fields  withstood  ; 
Some  mute,  inglorious  Milton  here  may  rest ; 
Some  Cromwell,  guiltless  of  his  country's  blood. 


150  ELEGY 

The  applause  of  listening  senates  to  command, 
The  threats  of  pain  and  ruin  to  despise, 
To  scatter  plenty  o'er  a  smiling  land, 
And  read  their  history  in  a  nation's  eyes, 

Their  lot  forbade  :  nor  circumscribed  alone 
Their  growing  virtues,  but  their  crimes  confined  ; 
Forbade  to  wade  through  slaughter  to  a  throne, 
And  shut  the  gates  of  mercy  on  mankind  ; 

The  struggling  pangs  of  conscious  truth  to  hide, 
To  quench  the  blushes  of  ingenuous  shame. 
Or  heap  the  shrine  of  luxury  and  pride 
With  incense  kindled  at  the  Muse's  flame. 

Far  from  the  madding  crowd's  ignoble  strife. 
Their  sober  wishes  never  learned  to  stray ; 
Along  the  cool,  sequestered  vale  of  life 
They  kept  the  noiseless  tenor  of  their  way. 

Yet  e'en  those  bones  from  insult  to  protect. 

Some  frail  memorial  still  erected  nigh, 

With    uncouth    rhymes    and    shapeless    sculpture 

decked, 
Implores  the  passing  tribute  of  a  sigh. 

Their    name,  their  years,  spelt  by  the  unlettered 

Muse, 
The  place  of  fame  and  elegy  supply  ; 
And  many  a  holy  text  around  she  strews, 
That  teach  the  mstic  moralist  to  die. 


ELEGY  15t 

For  who,  to  dumb  forgetfulness  a  prey, 
This  pleasing,  anxious  being  e'er  resigned. 
Left  the  warm  precincts  of  the  cheerful  day, 
Nor  cast  one  longing,  lingering  look  behind  ? 

On  some  fond  breast  the  parting  soul  relies, 
Some  pious  drops  the  closing  eye  requires  ; 
E'en  from  the  tomb  the  voice  of  Nature  cries, 
E'en  in  our  ashes  live  their  wonted  fires. 

For  thee,  who,  mindful  of  the  unhonored  dead, 
Dost  in  these  lines  their  artless  tale  relate, 
If  chance,  by  lonely  contemplation  led. 
Some  kindred  spirit  shall  inquire  thy  fate, 

Haply  some  hoary-headed  swain  may  say : 
"  Oft  have  we  seen  him  at  the  peep  of  dawn 
Brushing  with  hasty  steps  the  dews  away, 
To  meet  the  sun  upon  the  upland  lawn ; 

"  There  at  the  foot  of  yonder  nodding  beech, 
That  wreathes  its  old,  fantastic  roots  so  high. 
His  listless  length  at  noontide  would  he  stretch. 
And  pore  upon  the  brook  that  babbles  by. 

"  Hard  by  yon  wood,  now  smiling  as  in  scorn. 
Muttering  his  wayward  fancies,  he  would  rove  5 
Now  drooping,  woful  wan,  like  one  forlorn, 
Or  crazed  with  care,  or  crossed  in  hopeless  lovBt 

"  One  morn  I  missed  him  on  the  customed  hill, 
Along  the  heath,  and  near  his  favorite  tree ; 


152  BUGLE  SONG 

Another  came  ;  nor  yet  beside  the  rill, 
Nor  up  the  lawn,  nor  at  the  wood  was  he ; 

"  The  next,  with  dirges  due,  in  sad  array. 
Slow  thro'  the  cliurch-way  path  we  saw  him  borne. 
Approach  and  read  (for  thou  canst  read)  the  lay 
Graved  on  the  stone  beneath  yon  aged  thorn." 

THE   EPITAPH 

Here  rests  his  head  upon  the  lap  of  earth 
A  youth,  to  fortune  and  to  fame  unknown  : 
Fair  science  frowned  not  on  his  humble  birth, 
And  melancholy  marked  him  for  her  own. 

Large  was  his  bounty,  and  his  soul  sincere, 
Heaven  did  a  recompense  as  largely  send : 
He  gave  to  misery  (all  he  had)  a  tear ; 
He  gained  from  heaven  ('t  was  all  he  wished)  a 
friend. 

No  farther  seek  his  merits  to  disclose, 
Or  draw  his  frailties  from  their  dread  abode, 
(There  they  alike  in  trembling  hope  repose,) 
The  bosom  of  his  Father  and  his  God. 

Thomas  Gray. 


BUGLE  SONG     Tj.,^^,^ 

The  splendor  falls  on  castle  walls, 
And  snowy  summits  old  in  story  : 

The  long  light  shakes  across  the  lakes, 
And  the  wild  cataract  leaps  in  glory. 


ALLEN-A-DALE  153 

Blow,  bugle,  blow,  set  the  wild  echoes  flying, 
Blow,  bugle ;  answer,  echoes,  dying,  dying,  dying. 

Oh  hark,  oh,  hear  !  how  thin  and  clear, 
And  thinner,  clearer,  farther  going  ! 
Oh,  sweet  and  far,  from  cliff  and  scar. 
The  horns  of  Elfland  faintly  blowing  ! 
Blow,  let  us  hear  the  purple  glens  replying  : 
Blow,  bugle  ;  answer,  echoes,  dying,  dying,  dying. 

Oh,  love,  they  die  in  yon  rich  sky, 

They  faint  on  hill  or  field  or  river : 
Our  echoes  roll  from  soul  to  soul, 
And  grow  forever  and  forever. 
Blow,  bugle,  blow,  set  the  wild  echoes  flying, 
And  answer,  echoes,  answer,  dying,  dying,  dying. 

Alfred  Tennyson. 

ALLEN-A-DALE 

Allen-A-Dale  has  no  fagot  for  burning, 
AUen-a-Dale  has  no  furrow  for  turning, 
AUen-a-Dale  has  no  fleece  for  the  spinning, 
Yet  Allen-a-Dale  has  red  gold  for  the  winning. 
Come,  read  me  my  riddle  !  come,  hearken  my  tale ! 
And  tell  me  the  craft  of  bold  Allen-a-Dale. 

The  Baron  of  Ravensworth  prances  in  pride, 
And  he  views  his  domains  upon  Arkindale  side, 
The  mere  for  his  net,  and  the  land  for  his  game, 
The  chase  for  the  wild,  and  the  park  for  the  tame  ; 
Yet  the  fish  of  the  lake,  and  the  deer  of  the  vale. 
Are  less  free  to  Lord  Dacre  than  Allen-a-Dale  ! 


154  BALLAD 

Allen-a  Dale  was  ne'er  belted  a  knight, 

Though  his  spur  be  as  sharp,  and  his  blade  be  as 

bright : 
AUen-a-Dale  is  no  baron  or  lord, 
Yet  twenty  tall  yeomen  will  draw  at  his  word  ; 
And  the  best  o£  our  nobles  his  bonnet  will  veil 
Who  at  Rere-cross  on  Stanmore  meets  Allen-a-Dale. 

AUen-a-Dale  to  his  wooing  is  come  ; 

The  mother,  she  asked  of  his  household  and  home : 

"Though  the  castle  of  Richmond  stand  fair  on  the 

hill, 
My  hall,"  quoth  bold  Allen,  "  shows  gallanter  still ; 
'T  is  the  blue  vault  of  heaven,  with  its  crescent  so 

pale, 
And  with  all  its  bright  spangles,"  said  Allen-a-Dale. 

The  father  was  steel,  and  the  mother  was  stone ; 
They  lifted  the  latch,  and  they  bade  him  be  gone  ; 
But  loud,  on  the  morrow,  their  wail  and  their  cry : 
He  had  laughed  on  the  lass  with  his  bonny  black 

eye; 
And  she  fled  to  the  forest  to  hear  a  love-tale. 
And  the  youth  it  was  told  by  was  Allen-a-Dale  ! 

Sir  Walter  Scott„ 

BALLAD 

She  's  up  and  gone,  the  graceless  girl ! 

And  robbed  my  failing  years  ; 
My  blood  before  was  thin  and  cold, 

But  now  't  is  turned  to  tears. 


THE  LAST  LEAF  155 

My  shadow  falls  upon  my  grave, 

So  near  the  brink  I  stand  : 
She  might  have  stayed  a  little  yet. 

And  led  me  by  the  hand. 

Ay,  call  her  on  the  barren  moor, 

And  call  her  on  the  hill ; 
'T  is  nothing  but  the  heron's  cry, 

And  plover's  answer  shrill. 
My  child  is  flown  on  wilder  wings 

Than  they  have  ever  spread, 
And  I  may  even  Avalk  a  waste 

That  widened  when  she  fled. 

Full  many  a  thankless  child  has  been. 

But  never  one  like  mine  ; 
Her  meat  was  served  on  plates  of  gold, 

Her  drink  was  rosy  wine. 
But  now  she  '11  share  the  robin's  food, 

And  sup  the  common  rill, 
Before  her  feet  will  turn  again 

To  meet  her  father's  will ! 

Thomas  Hood, 


THE  LAST  LEAF 

I  SAW  him  once  before, 
As  he  passed  by  the  door. 

And  again 
The  pavement  stones  resound 
As  he  totters  o'er  the  ground 

With  his  cane. 


156  THE  LAST   LEAF 

They  say  that  in  his  prime, 
Ere  the  pruning-knife  of  Time 

Cut  him  down, 
Not  a  better  man  was  found 
By  the  crier  on  his  round 

Through  the  town. 

But  now  he  walks  the  streets, 
And  he  looks  at  all  he  meets 

Sad  and  wan, 
And  he  shakes  his  feeble  head, 
That  it  seems  as  if  he  said, 

"  They  are  gone." 

The  mossy  marbles  rest 
On  the  lips  that  he  has  prest 

In  their  bloom, 
And  the  names  he  loved  to  hear 
Have  been  carved  for  many  a  year 

On  the  tomb. 

My  grandmamma  has  said  — 
Poor  old  lady,  she  is  dead 

Long  ago  — 
That  he  had  a  Roman  nose. 
And  his  cheek  was  like  a  rose 

In  the  snow. 

But  now  his  nose  is  thin, 
And  it  rests  upon  his  chin 

Like  a  staff. 
And  a  crook  is  in  his  back, 


JENNY  KISSED  ME  157 

And  a  melancholy  crack 
In  his  laugh. 

I  know  it  is  a  sin 
For  me  to  sit  and  grin 

At  him  here  ; 
But  the  old  three-cornered  hat, 
And  the  breeches,  and  all  that, 

Are  so  queer ! 

And  if  I  should  live  to  be 
The  last  leaf  upon  the  tree 

In  the  spring, 
Let  them  smile,  as  I  do  now, 
At  the  old  forsaken  bough 

Where  I  cling. 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes. 


JENNY  KISSED  MEi/^cxyX/  lliM^ur' 

Jexnt  kissed  me  when  we  met, 

Jumping  from  the  chair  she  sat  in; 
Time,  you  thief !  who  love  to  get 

Sweets  into  your  list,  put  that  in  ! 
Say  I  'm  weary,  say  I  'm  sad. 

Say  that  health  and  wealth  have  missed  me, 

Say  I  'ra  growing  old,  but  add 

Jenny  kissed  me  ! 

heigh  Hunt. 

1  Note  13. 


158  DOROTHY  Q 

DOROTHY  Q 

A  Family  Portrait 


P^^^uSm^ 


Grai^dmother's  mother  !  her  age,  I  guess, 
Thirteen  summers,  or  sometliing  less ; 
GirUsh  bust,  but  womanly  air. 
Smooth,  square  forehead  with  uprolled  hair : 
Lips  that  lover  has  never  kissed, 
Taper  fingers  and  slender  wrist ; 
Hanging  sleeves  of  stiff  brocade,  — 
So  they  painted  the  little  maid. 

On  her  hand  a  parrot  green 

Sits  unmoving  and  broods  serene. 

Hold  up  the  canvas  full  in  view,  — 

Look  !  there  's  a  rent  the  light  shines  throught 

Dark  with  a  century's  fringe  of  dust ; 

That  was  a  Redcoat's  rapier-thrust ! 

Such  is  the  tale  the  lady  old, 

Dorothy's  daughter's  daughter,  told. 

Who  the  painter  was  none  may  tell,  — 
One  whose  best  was  not  over  well ; 
Hard  and  dry,  it  must  be  confessed, 
Flat  as  a  rose  that  has  long  been  pressed ; 
Yet  in  her  cheek  the  hues  are  bright, 
Dainty  colors  of  red  and  white. 
And  in  her  slender  shape  are  seen 
Hint  and  promise  of  stately  mien. 


DOROTHY  Q  159 

Look  not  on  her  with  eyes  of  scorn,  — 
Dorothy  Q.  was  a  lady  born  ! 
Ay  !  since  the  galloping  Normans  came, 
England's  annals  have  known  her  name ; 
And  still  to  the  three-hilled  rebel  town 
Dear  is  that  ancient  name's  renown. 
For  many  a  civic  wreath  they  won. 
The  yoiiiJiful  sire  and  the  gray-haired  son. 

O  Damsel  Dorothy !  Dorothy  Q. ! 
Strange  is  the  gift  that  I  owe  to  you ; 
Such  a  gift  as  never  a  king 
Save  to  daughter  or  son  might  bring ;  — 
All  my  tenure  of  heart  and  hand. 
All  my  title  to  house  and  land  ; 
Mother  and  sister,  and  child  and  wife, 
And  joy  and  sorrow,  and  death  and  life  ! 

What  if,  a  hundred  years  ago, 

Those  close-shut  lips  had  answered  No, 

When  forth  the  tremulous  question  came 

That  cost  the  maid  her  Norman  name, 

And  under  the  folds  that  look  so  still 

The  bodice  swelled  with  the  bosom's  thrill  ? 

Should  I  be  I,  or  would  it  be 

Ovy  tenth  another  to  nine  tenths  me  ? 

Soft  is  the  breath  of  a  maiden's  Yes  ; 
Not  the  light  gossamer  stirs  with  less  : 
But  never  a  cable  that  holds  so  fast 
Through  all  the  battles  of  wave  and  blast ; 
A.nd  never  an  echo  of  speech  or  song 


160  THE  COLUBRIAD 

That  lives  in  the  bahbling  air  so  long  ! 

There  were  tones  in  the  voice  that  whispered  then 

You  may  hear  to-day  in  a  hundred  men. 

Oh,  lady  and  lover,  how  faint  and  far 
Your  images  hover,  —  and  here  we  are, 
Solid  and  stirring  in  flesh  and  bone, 
Edward's  and  Dorothy's,  —  all  their  own,  — 
A  goodly  record  for  time  to  show 
Of  a  syllable  spoken  so  long  ago ! 
Shall  I  bless  you,  Dorothy,  or  forgive 
For  the  tender  whisper  that  bade  me  live  ? 

It  shall  be  a  blessing,  my  little  maid  ! 
I  will  heal  the  stab  of  the  Redcoat's  blade, 
And  freshen  the  gold  of  the  tarnished  frame, 
And  gild  with  a  rhyme  your  household  name : 
So  you  shall  smile  on  us  brave  and  bright 
As  first  you  greeted  the  morning's  light, 
And  live  untroubled  by  woes  and  fears 
Through  a  second  youth  of  a  hundred  years. 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes. 


THE   COLUBRIAD  1 

Close  by  the  threshold  of  a  door  nailed  fast 
Three  kittens  sat ;  each  kitten  looked  aghast. 
I,  passing  swift  and  inattentive  by, 
At  the  three  kittens  cast  a  careless  eye. 
Not  much  concerned  to  know  what  they  did  there, 
1  Note  14. 


THE   COLUBRIAD  IQX 

Nor  deeming  kittens  worth  a  poet's  care. 

But  pi'esently  a  loud  and  furious  hiss 

Caused  me  to  stop,  and  to  exclaim,  "  What 's  this  ?  '" 

When,  lo  !  upon  the  threshold  met  my  view, 

With  head  erect,  and  eyes  of  fiery  hue, 

A  viper,  long  as  Count  de  Grasse's  queue. 

Forth  from  his  head  his  forked  tongue  he  throws, 

Darting  it  full  against  a  kitten's  nose  ; 

Who,  never  having  seen  in  field  or  house 

The  like,  sat  still  and  silent  as  a  mouse ; 

Only  projecting,  with  attention  due, 

Her  whiskered  face,   she    asked  him,    "Who  are 

you  ?  " 
On  to  the  hall  went  I,  with  pace  not  slow, 
But  swift  as  lightning,  for  a  long  Dutch  hoe  ; 
With  which,  well  armed,  I  hastened  to  the  spot. 
To  find  the  viper  —  but  I  found  him  not, 
And,  turning  up  the  leaves  and  shrubs  around, 
Found  only  that  he  was  not  to  be  found. 
But  still  the  kittens,  sitting  as  before, 
Sat  watching  close  the  bottom  of  the  door. 
"  I  hope,"  said  I,  "  the  villain  I  would  kill 
Has  slipt  between  the  door  and  the  door-sill ; 
And  if  I  make  dispatch,  and  follow  hard. 
No  doubt  but  I  shall  find  him  in  the  yard," — 
For,  long  ere  now,  it  should  have  been  rehearsed, 
'T  was  in  the  garden  that  I  found  him  first. 
E'en  there  I  found  him,  there  the  fuU-gTown  cat 
His  head  with  velvet  paw  did  gently  pat, 
As  curious  as  the  kittens  erst  had  been 
To  learn  what  this  phenomenon  might  mean. 
Filled  with  heroic  ardor  at  the  sight. 


162       MARIGOLD— THE  DUMB  SOLDIER 

And  fearing  every  moment  he  miglit  bite, 
And  rob  our  household  of  our  only  cat 
That  was  of  age  to  combat  with  a  ^'at, 
With  outstretched  hoe  I  slew  him  at  the  door, 
And  taught  him  never  to  come  there  no  more. 

William  Cowper» 


MARIGOLD 

She  moved  through  the  garden  in  glory,  because 
She  had  very  long  claws  at  the  ends  of  her  paws. 
Her  back  was  arched,  her  tail  was  high, 
A  green  fire  glared  in  her  vivid  eye ; 
And  all  the  Toms,  though  never  so  bold, 
Quailed  at  the  martial  Marigold. 

Richard  Garnett, 


THE  DUMB  SOLDIER 

When  the  grass  was  closely  mown, 
Walking  on  the  lawn  alone, 
In  the  turf  a  hole  I  found, 
And  hid  a  soldier  underground. 

Spring  and  daisies  came  apace  ; 
Grasses  hide  my  hiding  place  ; 
Grasses  run  like  a  green  sea 
O'er  the  lawn  up  to  my  knee. 

Under  grass  alone  he  lies, 
Looking  up  with  leaden  eyes- 


THE  DUMB  SOLDIER  163 

Scarlet  coat  and  pointed  gun, 
To  the  stars  and  to  the  sun. 

When  the  grass  is  ripe  like  grain, 
"When  the  scythe  is  stoned  again, 
When  the  lawn  is  shaven  clear. 
Then  my  hole  shall  reappear. 

I  shall  find  him,  never  fear, 
I  shall  find  my  grenadier  ; 
But  for  aU  that 's  gone  and  come, 
I  shall  find  my  soldier  dumb. 

He  has  lived,  a  little  thing, 
In  the  grassy  woods  of  spring ; 
Done,  if  he  could  tell  me  true, 
Just  as  I  should  like  to  do. 

He  has  seen  the  starry  hours, 
And  the  springing  of  the  flowers  % 
And  the  fairy  things  that  pass 
In  the  forests  of  the  grass. 

In  the  silence  he  has  heard 
Talking  bee  and  ladybird, 
And  the  butterfly  has  flown 
O'er  him  as  he  lay  alone. 

Not  a  word  will  he  disclose. 
Not  a  word  of  all  he  knows. 
I  must  lay  him  on  the  shelf, 
And  make  up  the  tale  myself. 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson. 


164        THE  KING   OF  DENMARK'S  RIDE 


THE  KING  OF   DENMARK'S  RIDE 

Word  was  brought  to  the  Danish  king, 

(Hurry !) 
That  the  love  of  his  heart  lay  suffering, 
And  pined  for  the  comfort  his  voice  would  bring  ^ 

(Oh,  ride  as  if  you  were  flying  !) 
Better  he  loves  each  golden  curl 
On  the  brow  of  that  Scandinavian  girl 
Than  his  rich  crown-jewels  of  ruby  and  pearl ; 

And  his  Rose  of  the  Isles  is  dying. 

Thirty  nobles  saddled  with  speed ; 

(Hurry!) 
Each  one  mounted  a  gallant  steed 
Which  he  kept  for  battle  and  days  of  need ; 

(Oh,  ride  as  though  you  were  flying  !) 
Spurs  were  stuck  in  the  foaming  flank, 
Worn-out  chargers  staggered  and  sank  ; 
Bridles  were  slackened  and  girths  were  burst ; 
But,  ride  as  they  would,  the  king  rode  first, 

For  his  Rose  of  the  Isles  lay  dying. 

His  nobles  are  beaten,  one  by  one ; 

(Hurry  !) 
They  have    fainted,  and  faltered,  and    homeward 

gone; 
The  little  fair  page  now  follows  alone. 

For  strength  and  for  courage  trying. 
The  king  looked  back  at  that  faithful  child, 
Wan  was  the  face  that  answering  smiled. 


LADY   CLARE  165 

They  passed  the  drawbridge  with  clattering  din, 
Then  he  dropped,  and  only  the  king  rode  in 
Where  his  Rose  of  the  Isles  lay  dying. 

The  king  blew  a  blast  on  his  bugle-horn, 

(Silence !) 
No  answer  came,  but  faint  and  forlorn 
An  echo  returned  on  the  cold  gray  morn. 

Like  the  breath  of  a  spirit  sighing ; 
The  castle  portal  stood  grimly  wide  ; 
None  welcomed  the  king  from  that  weary  ride ! 
For,  dead  in  the  light  of  the  dawning  day, 
The  pale,  sweet  form  of  the  welcomer  lay. 

Who  had  yearned  for  his  voice  while  dying. 

The  panting  steed  with  a  drooping  crest 

Stood  weary  ; 
The  king  returned  from  the  chamber  of  rest, 
The  thick  sobs  choking  in  his  breast. 

And  that  dumb  companion  eying, 
The  tears  gushed  forth,  which  he  strove  to  check  | 
He  bowed  his  head  on  his  charger's  neck,  — 
"  0  steed  that  every  nerve  didst  strain, 
Dear  steed  !  our  ride  hath  been  in  vain 

To  the  halls  where  my  love  lay  dying." 

Caroline  Elizabeth  Norton, 

LADY  CLARE  'T^/uot^i^'^ 

It  was  the  time  when  lilies  blow, 
And  clouds  are  highest  up  in  air. 

Lord  Ronald  brought  a  lily-white  doe 
To  give  his  cousin,  Lady  Clare. 


166  LADY  CLARE 

I  trow  they  did  not  part  in  scorn  ; 

Lovers  long-betrothed  were  they, 
They  two  will  wed  the  morrow  morn  ; 

God's  blessing  on  the  day  ! 

"  He  does  not  love  me  for  my  birth, 
Nor  for  my  lands  so  broad  and  fair ; 

He  loves  me  for  my  own  true  worth, 
And  that  is  well,"  said  Lady  Clare. 

In  there  came  old  Alice  the  nurse. 

Said,  "  Who  was  this  that  went  from  thee  ?" 
"  It  was  my  cousin,"  said  Lady  Clare, 

"  To-morrow  he  weds  with  me." 

"  0  God  be  thanked !  "  said  Alice  the  nurse, 
"  That  all  comes  round  so  just  and  fair ; 

Lord  Ronald  is  heir  of  all  your  lands, 
And  you  are  not  the  Lady  Clare." 

"  Are  ye  out  of  your  mind,  my  nurse,  my  nurse," 
Said  Lady  Clare,  "  that  ye  speak  so  wild  ?  " 

*'  As  God  's  above,"  said  Alice  the  nurse, 
"  I  speak  the  truth :  you  are  my  child. 

"  The  old  Earl's  daughter  died  at  my  breast ; 

I  speak  the  truth,  as  I  live  by  bread ! 
I  buried  her  like  my  own  sweet  child, 

And  put  my  child  in  her  stead." 

"  Falsely,  falsely  have  ye  done, 

O  mother,"  she  said,  "  if  this  be  true. 


LADY  CLARE  167 

To  keep  the  best  man  under  the  sun 
So  many  years  from  his  due." 

"  Nay  now,  my  child,"  said  Alice  the  nurse, 
"  But  keep  the  secret  for  your  life, 

And  all  you  have  will  be  Lord  Ronald's 
When  you  are  man  and  wife." 

"  If  I  'm  a  beggar  born,"  she  said, 
"  I  will  speak  out,  for  I  dare  not  lie. 

Pull  off,  pull  off,  the  broach  of  gold. 
And  fling  the  diamond  necklace  by  !  " 

"  Nay  now,  my  child,"  said  Alice  the  nurse, 

"  But  keep  the  secret  all  ye  can." 
She  said,  "  Not  so  :  but  I  will  know 

If  there  be  any  faith  in  man." 

"  Nay  now,  what  faith  ?  "  said  Alice  the  nurse, 
"  The  man  will  cleave  unto  his  right." 

"  And  he  shall  have  it,"  the  lady  replied, 
"  Though  I  should  die  to-night." 

"  Yet  give  one  kiss  to  your  mother  dear ! 

Alas,  my  child,  I  sinned  for  thee." 
"  0  mother,  mother,  mother,"  she  said, 

"  So  strange  it  seems  to  me  ! 

**  Yet  here  's  a  kiss  for  my  mother  dear, 

My  mother  dear,  if  this  be  so. 
And  lay  your  hand  upon  my  head, 

And  bless  me,  mother,  ere  I  go." 


168  LADY  CLARE 

She  clad  herself  in  a  russet  gown, 
She  was  no  longer  Lady  Clare  ; 

She  went  by  dale,  and  she  went  by  down, 
With  a  single  rose  in  her  hair. 

The  lily-white  doe  Lord  Ronald  had  brought 

Leapt  up  from  where  she  lay, 
Dropt  her  head  in  the  maiden's  hand, 

And  followed  her  all  the  way. 

Down  stept  Lord  Ronald  from  his  tower  ; 

"  O  Lady  Clare,  you  shame  your  worth  ! 
Why  come  you  drest  like  a  village  maid. 

That  are  the  flower  of  the  earth  ?  " 

*'  If  I  come  drest  like  a  village  maid, 

I  am  but  as  my  fortunes  are  : 
I  am  a  beggar  born,"  she  said, 

"  And  not  the  Lady  Clare." 

"  Play  me  no  tricks,"  said  Lord  Ronald, 
"  For  I  am  yours  in  word  and  in  deed  ; 

"  Play  me  no  tricks,"  said  Lord  Ronald, 
"  Your  riddle  is  hard  to  read." 

Oh,  and  proudly  stood  she  up  ! 

Her  heart  within  her  did  not  fail : 
She  looked  into  Lord  Ronald's  eyes, 

And  told  him  all  her  nurse's  tale. 

He  laughed  a  laugh  of  merry  scorn  ; 

He  turned,  and  kissed  her  where  slie  stood ; 


FAIRY  SONG  169 

"  If  you  are  not  the  heiress  born, 

And  I,"  said  he,  "  the  next  in  blood,  — 

"  If  you  are  not  the  heiress  born. 
And  I,"  said  he,  ''  the  lawful  heir, 

We  two  will  wed  to-morrow  morn, 
And  you  shall  still  be  Lady  Clare." 

Alfred  Tennyson. 


FAIRY  SONG 


U^LS^' 


Over  hill,  over  dale, 

Thorough  bush,  thorough  brier, 
Over  park,  over  pale. 

Thorough  flood,  thorough  fire, 

I  do  wander  everywhere. 

Swifter  than  the  moon's  sphere  ; 
And  I  serve  the  fairy  queen. 
To  dew  her  orbs  upon  the  green. 
The  cowslips  tall  her  pensioners  be, 
In  their  gold  coats  spots  you  see  ; 
Those  be  rubies,  fairy  favors, 
In  those  freckles  live  their  savors. 
I  must  go  seek  some  dewdrops  here, 
And  hang  a  pearl  in  every  cowslip's  ear. 

Shakespeare<, 


170  LULLABY  FOR   TIT  AMI  A 

LULLABY  FOR   TITANIA 

First  Fairy  '    ~ 

You  spotted  snakes  with  double  tongue, 
Thorny  hedgehogs,  be  not  seen  ; 

Newts  and  blind-worms,  do  no  wrong ; 
Come  not  near  our  Fairy  Queen. 

Chorus 

Philomel  with  melody 

Sing  in  our  sweet  lullaby  ; 
Lulla,  lulla,  luUaby ;  luUa,  luUa,  lullaby : 
Never  harm,  nor  spell,  nor  charm, 

Come  our  lovely  lady  nigh  ! 

So  good-night,  with  luUaby. 

Second  Fairy 

Weaving  spiders,  come  not  here  ; 

Hence,  you  long-legged  spinners,  hence ; 
Beetles  black,  approach  not  near  ; 

Worm,  nor  snail,  do  no  offense. 

Chorus 

Philomel  with  melody 

Sing  in  our  sweet  lullaby  ; 
Lulla,  lulla,  lullaby  ;  lulla,  lulla,  lullaby  ! 
Never  harm,  nor  spell,  nor  charm, 

Come  our  lovely  lady  nigh  ! 

So  good-night,  with  lullaby. 

Shakespeare. 


EPITAPH— SONG  171 


EPITAPH  ON  THE  COUNTESS  OF  PEM- 
BROKE      gg^  0  ^yt^urrU 

Underneath  tliis  sable  hearse 

Si^flney's  sister,  Pembroke's  mother  ; 
Death  !  ere  thon  hast  fi1a,m  another. 
tliearned  and  fair  and  good  as  she, 
Time  shall  throw  a  dart  at  thee. 

Ben  Jonson. 


SONG 

Who  is  the  baby,  that  doth  lie 
Beneath  the  silken  canopy 

Of  thy  blue  eye  ? 
It  is  young  Sorrow,  laid  asleep 

In  the  crystal  deep. 
Let  us  sing  his  lullaby, 
Heigho  !  a  sob  and  a  sigh. 

What  sound  is  that,  so  soft,  so  clear. 
Harmonious  as  a  bubbled  tear 

Bursting,  we  hear  ? 
It  is  young  Sorrow,  slumber  breaking, 

Suddenly  waking. 
Let  us  sing  his  lullaby, 
Heigho  !  a  sob  and  a  sigh. 

Thomas  Lovell  Beddoes 


172  ANNABEL  LEE 


ANNABEL  LEE         (p 


It  was  many  and  many  a  year  ago, 

In  a  kingdom  by  the  sea, 
That  a  maiden  there  lived  whom  you  may  know 

By  the  name  of  Annabel  Lee  ; 
And  this  maiden  she  lived  with  no  other  thought 

Than  to  love  and  be  loved  by  me. 

I  was  a  child,  and  she  was  a  child, 

In  this  kingdom  by  the  sea  ; 
But  we  loved  with  a  love  that  was  more  than  love, 

I  and  my  Annabel  Lee  ; 
With  a  love  that  the  winged  seraphs  of  heaven 

Coveted  her  and  me. 

And  this  was  the  reason  that,  long  ago, 

In  this  kingdom  by  the  sea, 
A  wind  blew  out  of  a  cloud,  chiUing 

My  beautiful  Annabel  Lee  ; 
So  that  her  high-born  kinsmen  came 

And  bore  her  away  from  me, 
To  shut  her  up  in  a  sepulchre 

In  this  kingdom  by  the  sea. 

The  angels,  not  half  so  hapjjy  in  heaven, 

Went  envying  her  and  me  ; 
Yes  !  —  that  was  the  reason  (as  all  men  know 

In  this  kingdom  by  the  sea) 
That  the  wind  came  out  of  the  cloud  by  night, 

Chilling  and  killing  my  Annabel  Lee. 


THE  SHEPHERD   OF  KING  ADMETUS    173 

But  our  love  it  was  stronger  by  far  than  the  love 

Of  those  who  were  older  than  we,  — 

Of  many  far  wiser  than  we  ; 
And  neither  the  angels  in  heaven  above, 

Nor  the  demons  down  under  the  sea, 
Can  ever  dissever  my  soul  from  the  soul 

Of  the  beautiful  Annabel  Lee. 

For  the   moon  never  beams  without  bringing  me 
dreams 
Of  the  beautiful  Annabel  Lee  ; 
And  the  stars  never  rise,  but  I  feel  the  bright  eyes 

Of  the  beautiful  Annabel  Lee  ; 
And  so,  all  the  night-tide,  I  lie  down  by  the  side 
Of  my  darhng  —  my  darling  — my   life  and  my 
bride. 
In  her  sepulchre  there  by  the  sea, 
In  her  tomb  by  the  sounding  sea. 

Edgar  Allan  Poe. 


THE  SHEPHERD  OF  KING  ADMETUS 

There  came  a  youth  upon  the  earth, 

Some  thousand  years  ago. 
Whose  slender  hands  were  nothing  worth. 
Whether  to  plough,  or  reap,  or  sow. 

Upon  an  empty  tortoise-shell 

He  stretched  some  chords,  and  drew 
Music  that  made  men's  bosoms  swell 
Fearless,  or  brimmed  their  eyes  with  dew. 


174     THE  SHEPHERD   OF  KING  ADMETUS 

Then  King  Admetus,  one  who  had 

Pure  taste  by  right,  divine, 
Decreed  his  singing  not  too  bad 
To  hear  between  the  cups  o£  wine  ; 

And  so,  well  pleased  with  being  soothed 

Into  a  sweet  half-sleep, 
Three  times  his  kingly  beard  he  smoothed, 
And  made  him  viceroy  o'er  his  sheep. 

His  words  were  simple  words  enough, 

And  yet  he  used  them  so, 
That  what  in  other  mouths  was  rough 
In  his  seemed  musical  and  low. 

Men  called  him  but  a  shiftless  youth, 

In  whom  no  good  they  saw  ; 
And  yet,  unwittingly,  in  truth, 
They  made  his  careless  words  their  law. 

They  knew  not  how  he  learned  at  all, 

For  idly,  hour  by  hour, 
He  sat  and  watched  the  dead  leaves  fall, 
Or  mused  upon  a  common  flower. 

It  seemed  the  loveliness  of  things 

Did  teach  him  all  their  use, 
For,  in  mere  weeds,  and  stones,  and  springs. 
He  found  a  healing  power  profuse. 

Men  granted  that  his  speech  was  wise. 
But,  when  a  glance  they  caught 


THE  SISTERS  175 

Of  his  slim  grace  and  woman's  eyes, 

They  laughed,  and  called  him  good-f  or-nought 

Yet  after  he  was  dead  and  gone, 

And  e'en  his  memory  dim. 
Earth  seemed  more  sweet  to  live  upon. 
More  full  of  love,  because  of  him. 

And  day  by  day  more  holy  grew 
Each  spot  where  he  had  trod, 
Till  after-poets  only  knew 
Their  first-born  brother  as  a  god. 

James  Bussell  Lowell. 


THE  SISTERS 

Annie  and  Rhoda,  sisters  twain. 
Woke  in  the  night  to  the  sound  of  rain, 

The  rush  of  wind,  the  ramp  and  roar 
Of  great  waves  chmbing  a  rocky  shore. 

Annie  rose  up  in  her  bed-gown  white, 
And  looked  out  into  the  storm  and  night. 

«  Hush,  and  hearken !  "  she  cried  in  fear, 
«  Hearest  thou  nothing,  sister  dear  ?  " 

« I  hear  the  sea,  and  the  plash  of  rain, 
And  roar  of  the  northeast  hurricane. 


176  THE  SISTERS 

"  Get  thee  back  to  the  hed  so  warm, 
No  good  comes  of  watcliing  a  storm. 

"  "What  is  it  to  thee,  I  fain  would  know. 
That  waves  are  roaring  and  wild  winds  blow  ? 

"  No  lover  of  thine  's  afloat  to  miss 
The  harbor-lights  on  a  night  like  this." 

"  But  I  heard  a  voice  cry  out  my  name  ; 
Up  from  the  sea  on  the  wind  it  came ! 

"  Twice  and  thrice  have  I  heard  it  call. 
And  the  voice  is  the  voice  of  Estwick  Hall ! " 

On  her  pillow  the  sister  tossed  her  head, 
"  Hall  of  the  Heron  is  safe,"  she  said. 

"  In  the  tautest  schooner  that  ever  swam 
He  rides  at  anchor  in  Annisquam. 

"  And  if  in  peril  from  swamping  sea 
Or  lee  shore  rocks,  would  he  call  on  thee  ?  " 

But  the  girl  heard  only  the  wind  and  tide. 
And  wringing  her  small  white  hands  she  cried : 

"  0  sister  Rhoda,  there  's  something  wrong ; 
I  hear  it  again,  so  loud  and  long. 

" '  Annie  !  Annie  ! '  I  hear  it  call, 
And  the  voice  is  the  voice  of  Estwick  Hall ! " 


THE  SISTERS  177 

Up  sprang  the  elder,  with  eyes  aflame, 
♦'  Thou  liest !  He  never  would  call  thy  name  ! 

"  If  he  did,  I  would  pray  the  wind  and  sea 
To  keep  him  forever  from  thee  and  me !  " 

Then  out  of  the  sea  blew  a  dreadful  blast  % 
Like  the  cry  of  a  dying  man  it  passed. 

The  young  girl  hushed  on  her  lips  a  groan, 
But  through  her  tears  a  strange  light  shone,  -=• 

The  solemn  joy  of  her  heart's  release 
To  own  and  cherish  its  love  in  peace. 

"  Dearest !  "  she  whispered,  under  breath, 
"  Life  was  a  lie,  but  true  is  death. 

"  The  love  I  hid  from  myself  away 
Shall  crown  me  now  in  the  light  of  day. 

"  My  ears  shall  never  to  wooer  list, 
Never  by  lover  my  lips  be  kissed. 

"  Sacred  to  thee  am  I  henceforth. 
Thou  in  heaven  and  I  on  earth  !  " 

She  came  and  stood  by  her  sister's  bed : 
"  Hall  of  the  Heron  is  dead !  "  she  said. 

"  The  wind  and  the  waves  their  work  have  done. 
We  shall  see  him  no  more  beneath  the  sun. 


178     THE  DISCOVERER  OF  THE  NORTH  CAFE 

"  Little  will  reck  that  heart  of  tliine, 
It  loved  him  not  with  a  love  Uke  mine. 

"  I,  for  his  sake,  were  he  but  here, 
Could  hem  and  'broider  thy  bridal  gear, 

"  Though  hands  should  tremble,  and  eyes  be  wet, 
And  stitch  for  stitch  in  my  heart  be  set. 

"  But  now  my  soul  with  his  soul  I  wed ; 
Thine  the  living,  and  mine  the  dead  !  " 

John  Greenleaf  Whittier. 


THE  DISCOVERER   OF  THE  NORTH   CAPE 

A  Leaf  from  King  Alfred^  s  Orostus 


1    UAi^Jli 


Othere,  the  old  sea-captain, 

Who  dwelt  in  Helgoland, 
To  King  Alfred,  the  Lover  of  Truth, 
Brought  a  snow-white  walrus-tooth, 

Which  he  held  in  his  brown  right  hand. 

His  figure  was  tall  and  stately, 
Like  a  boy's  his  eye  appeared  ; 

His  hair  was  yellow  as  hay. 

But  threads  of  a  silvery  gray 
Gleamed  in  his  tawny  beard. 

Hearty  and  hale  was  Othere, 

His  cheek  had  the  color  of  oak  ; 
With  a  kind  of  laugh  in  his  speech. 


THE  DISCOVERER  OF  THE  NORTH  CAPE    179 

Like  the  sea-tide  on  a  beach, 
As  unto  the  King  he  spoke. 

And  Alfred,  King  of  the  Saxons, 

Had  a  book  upon  his  knees, 
And  wrote  down  the  wondrous  tale 
Of  him  who  was  first  to  sail 

Into  the  Arctic  seas. 

*'  So  far  I  live  to  the  northward. 

No  man  lives  north  of  me  ; 
To  the  east  are  wild  mountain-chains, 
And  beyond  them  meres  and  plains ; 

To  the  westward  all  is  sea. 

"  So  far  I  live  to  the  northward, 

From  the  harbor  of  Skeringes-hale, 

If  you  only  sailed  by  day, 

With  a  fair  wind  all  the  way. 

More  than  a  month  would  you  sail. 

*'  I  own  six  hundred  reindeer. 

With  sheep  and  swine  beside  ; 
I  have  tribute  from  the  Finns, 
Whalebone,  and  reindeer  skins, 
And  ropes  of  walrus  hide. 

'•'■  I  ploughed  the  land  with  horses, 
But  my  heart  was  ill  at  ease. 
For  the  old  seafaring  men 
Came  to  me  now  and  then. 

With  their  sagas  of  the  seas^  — 


180     THE  DISCOVERER  OF  THE  NORTH  CAPE 

"  Of  Iceland  and  of  Greenland, 
And  the  stormy  Hebrides, 
And  the  undiscovered  deep  ;  — 
Oh,  I  could  not  eat  nor  sleep 
For  thinking  of  those  seas. 

"  To  the  northward  stretched  the  desert^ 
How  far  I  fain  would  know  ; 
So  at  last  I  sallied  forth, 
And  tlu'ee  days  sailed  due  north, 
As  far  as  the  whale-ships  go. 

"To  the  west  of  me  was  the  ocean, 
To  the  right  the  desolate  shore, 
But  I  did  not  slacken  sail 
For  the  walrus  or  the  whale, 
Till  after  three  days  more. 

*'  The  days  grew  longer  and  longer. 
Till  they  became  as  one, 
And  northward  through  the  haze 
I  saw  the  sullen  blaze 
Of  the  red  midnight  sun. 

"  And  then  uprose  before  me. 
Upon  the  water's  edge, 
The  huge  and  haggard  shape 
Of  that  unknown  North  Cape, 
Whose  form  is  like  a  wedge. 

^  The  sea  was  rough  and  stormy. 
The  tempest  howled  and  wailed, 


TEE  DISCOVERER  OF  THE  NORTH  CAFE    loi 

And  the  sea-fog,  like  a  ghost, 
Haunted  that  dreary  coast, 
But  onward  still  I  sailed. 

"  Four  days  I  steered  to  eastward, 

Four  days  without  a  night : 
Round  in  a  fiery  ring 
Went  the  great  sun,  O  King, 

With  red  and  lurid  light." 

Here  Alfred,  King  of  the  Saxons, 

Ceased  writing  for  a  while  ; 
And  raised  his  eyes  from  his  book. 
With  a  strange  and  puzzled  look, 
And  an  incredulous  smile. 

But  Othere,  the  old  sea-captain. 
He  neither  paused  nor  stirred, 

TiU  the  King  listened,  and  then 

Once  more  took  up  his  pen. 
And  wrote  down  every  word. 

**  And  now  the  land,"  said  Othere, 
"  Bent  southward  suddenly. 
And  I  followed  the  curving  shore. 
And  ever  southward  bore 
Into  a  nameless  sea. 

*'  And  there  we  hunted  the  walrus. 
The  narwhale,  and  the  seal ; 

Ha  !  't  was  a  noble  game  ! 

And  like  the  lightning's  flame 
Flew  our  harpoons  of  steel. 


182  ODE  ON  CHRIST'S  NATIVITY 

"  There  were  six  of  us  all  together, 
Norsemen  of  Helgoland ; 
In  two  days  and  no  more 
We  killed  of  them  threescore, 

And  dragged  them  to  the  strand!" 

Here  Alfred  the  Truth-TeUer 

Suddenly  closed  his  book, 
And  lifted  his  blue  eyes, 
With  doubt  and  strange  surmise 

Depicted  in  their  look. 

And  Othere,  the  old  sea-captain, 

Stared  at  him  wild  and  weird, 

Then  smiled,  till  his  shining  teeth 

Gleamed  white  from  underneath 

His  tawny,  quivering  beard. 

And  to  the  King  of  the  Saxons, 

In  witness  of  the  truth. 
Raising  his  noble  head, 
He  stretched  his  brown  hand,  and  said, 

"  Behold  this  walrus-tooth  I  " 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow, 


ODE  ON  THE  MORNING  OF  CHRIST'S 
NATIVITY       "J^^JUifk 

This  is  the  month,  and  this  the  happy  morn, 
Wherein  the  Son  of  Heaven's  Etei'nal  King, 
Of  wedded  maid  and  virgin  mother  born. 
Our  great  redemption  from  above  did  bring ; 
For  so  the  holy  sages  once  did  sing 


/ 


ODE  ON  CHRIST'S  NATIVITY  183 

That  He  our  deadly  forfeit  should  release, 
And  with  liis  Father  work  us  a  perpetual  peace. 

That  glorious  Form,  that  Light  unsufferable, 

And  that  far-beaming  blaze  of  Majesty 

Wherewith  He  wont  at  Heaven's  high  council-table 

To  sit  the  midst  of  Trinal  Unity, 

He  laid  aside  ;  and,  here  with  us  to  be 

Forsook  the  courts  of  everlasting  day, 

And  chose  with  us  a  darksome  house  of  mortal  clay. 

Say,  heavenly  Muse,  shall  not  thy  sacred  vein 
Afford  a  present  to  the  Infant  God  ? 
Hast  thou  no  verse,  no  hymn,  or  solemn  strain 
To  welcome  Him  to  this  his  new  abode. 
Now  while  the  heaven,  by  the  sun's  team  untrod. 
Hath  took  no  print  of  the  apjjroaching  light, 
And  all  the  spangled  host  keep  watch  in  squadrons 
bright  ? 

See  how  from  far,  upon  the  eastern  road. 

The  star-led  wizards  haste  with  odors  sweet : 

Oh,  run,  prevent  them  with  thy  humble  ode, 

And  lay  it  lowly  at  his  blessed  feet ; 

Have  thou  the  honor  first  thy  Lord  to  greet, 

And  join  thy  voice  unto  the  angel  quire 

From  out  his  secret  altar  touched  with  hallowed  fire. 

THE   HYMN 
It  was  the  winter  wild 
While  the  heaven-born  Child 
All  meanly  wrapt  in  the  rude  manger  lies ; 


184  ODE   ON  CHRIST'S  NATIVITY 

Nature  in  awe  to  Him 

Had  doffed  her  gaudy  trim, 
With  her  great  Master  so  to  sympathize : 
It  was  no  season  then  for  her 
To  wanton  with  the  sun,  her  lusty  paramour. 

Only  with  speeches  fair 

She  woos  the  gentle  air 
To  hide  her  guilty  front  with  innocent  snow  5 

And  on  her  naked  shame. 

Pollute  with  sinful  blame. 
The  saintly  veil  of  maiden  white  to  throw ; 
Confounded,  that  her  Maker's  eyes 
Should  look  so  near  upon  her  foul  deformities. 

But  He,  her  fears  to  cease, 

Sent  down  the  meek-eyed  Peace  ; 
She,  crowned  with  olive  green,  came  softly  sliding 

Down  through  the  turning  sphere 

His  ready  harbinger, 
With  turtle  wing  the  amorous  clouds  dividing ; 
And  waving  wide  her  myrtle  wand. 
She  strikes  a  universal  peace  through  sea  and  land. 

No  war  or  battle's  sound 

Was  heard  the  world  around  : 
The  idle  spear  and  shield  were  high  up  hung ; 

The  hooked  chariot  stood 

Unstained  with  hostile  blood  ; 
The  trumpet  spake  not  to  the  arm^d  throng  ; 
And  kings  sat  still  with  awful  eye. 
As  if  they  surely  knew  their  sovran  Lord  was  by. 


ODE   ON  CHRIST'S  NATIVITY  185 

But  peaceful  was  the  night 

Wherein  the  Prince  of  Light 
His  reign  of  peace  upon  the  earth  began : 

The  winds,  with  wonder  whist, 

Smoothly  the  waters  kist, 
Whispering  new  joys  to  the  mild  ocean 
Who  now  hath  quite  forgot  to  rave, 
While  birds  of  calm  sit  brooding  on  the  charmed 


The  stars,  with  deep  amaze. 

Stand  fixed  in  steadfast  gaze, 
Bending  one  way  their  precious  influence ; 

And  will  not  take  their  flight 

For  all  the  morning  light, 
Or  Lucifer  that  often  warned  them  thence  ; 
But  in  their  glimmering  orbs  did  glow 
Until  their  Lord  himself  bespake,  and  bid  them  go. 

And  though  the  shady  gloom 

Had  given  day  her  room, 
The  sun  himself  withheld  his  wonted  speed. 

And  hid  his  head  for  shame, 

As  his  inferior  flame 
The  new-enlightened  world  no  more  should  need ; 
He  saw  a  greater  Sun  appear 

Than  his  bright  throne  or  burning  axletree  could 
bear. 

The  shepherds  on  the  lawn 
Or  ere  the  point  of  dawn 
Sate  simply  chatting  in  a  rustic  row ; 
Full  little  thought  they  then 


186  ODE  ON   CUEIST'S  NATIVITY 

That  the  mighty  Pan 
Was  kindly  come  to  live  with  them  below ; 
Perhaps  their  loves,  or  else  their  sheep, 
Was  all  that  did  their  silly  thoughts  so  busy  keep. 

When  such  music  sweet 

Their  hearts  and  ears  did  greet 
As  never  was  by  mortal  finger  strook,  — 

Divinely-warbled  voice 

Answering  the  stringed  noise, 
As  all  their  souls  in  blissful  rapture  took : 
The  air,  such  pleasure  loth  to  lose, 
With  thousand  echoes  still  prolongs  each  heavenly 
close. 

Nature,  that  heard  such  sound 

Beneath  the  hollow  round 
Of  Cynthia's  seat,  the  aery  region  thrilling, 

Now  was  almost  won 

To  think  her  part  was  done, 
And  that  her  reign  had  here  its  last  fulfilling  ; 
She  knew  such  harmony  alone 
Could  hold  all  heaven  and  earth  in  happier  union. 

At  last  surrounds  their  sight 

A  globe  of  circular  light 
That  with  long  beams  the  shamefaced  night  arrayed  ^ 

The  helmed  Cherubim, 

And  sworded  Seraphim, 
Are  seen  in  glittering  ranks  with  wings  displayed, 
Harping  in  loud  and  solemn  quire 
With    unexpressive   notes,  to    Heaven's    new-born 
Heir. 


ODE   ON  CHRIST'S  NATIVITY  187 

Such  music  (as  't  is  said) 

Before  was  never  made 
But  when  of  old  the  sons  of  morning  sung, 

While  the  Creator  great 

His  constellations  set, 
And  the  well-balanced  world  on  hinges  hung ; 
And  cast  the  dark  foundations  deep, 
And  bid  the  weltering  waves  their  oozy  channel 
keep. 

Ring  out,  ye  crystal  spheres ! 

Once  bless  our  human  ears, 
If  ye  have  power  to  touch  our  senses  so ; 

And  let  your  silver  chime 

Move  in  melodious  time  ; 
And  let  the  bass  of  heaven's  deep  organ  blow ; 
And  with  your  ninefold  harmony 
Make  up  full  concert  to  the  angelic  symphony. 

For  if  such  holy  song 

Enwrap  our  fancy  long, 
Time  will  run  back,  and  fetch  the  age  of  gold ; 

And  speckled  vanity 

Will  sicken  soon  and  die. 
And  leprous  sin  will  melt  from  earthly  mould  ; 
And  Hell  itself  will  pass  away, 
And  leave  her  dolorous  mansions  to  the  peering  day. 

Yea,  Truth  and  Justice  then 
Will  down  return  to  men, 
Orbed  in  a  rainbow ;  and,  like  glories  wearing, 
Mercy  will  sit  between 
Throned  in  celestial  sheen, 


188  ODE   ON  CHRIST'S  NATIVITY 

With  radiant  feet  the  tissued  clouds  down  steering  -, 

And  Heaven,  as  at  some  festival, 

Will  open  wide  the  gates  of  her  high  palace  hall. 

But  wisest  Fate  says  No, 

This  must  not  yet  be  so  ; 
The  Babe  yet  lies  in  smiling  infancy, 

That  on  the  bitter  cross 

Must  redeem  our  loss  ; 
So  both  himself  and  us  to  glorify  : 
Yet  first,  to  those  y chained  in  sleep. 
The  wakeful  trump  of  doom  must  thunder  through 
the  deep ; 

With  such  a  horrid  clang 

As  on  mount  Sinai  rang, 
While  the  red  fire  and  smouldering  clouds  outbrake : 

The  aged  Earth  aghast 

With  terror  of  that  blast 
Shall  from  the  surface  to  the  centre  shake, 
When,  at  the  world's  last  session, 
The  dreadful  Judge  in  middle  air  shall  spread  his 
throne. 

And  then  at  last  our  bliss 

FuU  and  perfect  is, 
But  now  begins  ;  for  from  this  happy  day 

The  old  Dragon,  under  ground 

In  straiter  limits  bound, 
Not  half  so  far  casts  his  usurped  sway  ; 
And,  wroth  to  see  his  kingdom  fail, 
Swindges  the  scaly  horror  of  his  folded  tail. 


ODE   ON  CHRIST'S  NATIVITY  189 

The  oracles  are  dumb  ; 

No  voice  or  hideous  hum 
Runs  through  the  arched  roof  in  words  deceiving : 

Apollo  from  his  shrine 

Can  no  more  divine, 
With  hollow  shriek  the  steep  of  Delphos  leaving: 
No  nightly  trance  or  breathed  spell 
Inspires  the  pale-eyed  priest  from  the  prophetic  cell. 

The  lonely  mountains  o'er 

And  the  resounding  shore 
A  voice  of  weeping  heard,  and  loud  lament ; 

From  haunted  spring  and  dale 

Edged  with  poplar  pale 
The  parting  Genius  is  with  sighing  sent ; 
With  flower-inwoven  tresses  torn 
The  nymphs  in  twilight  shade  of  tangled  thickets 
mourn. 

In  consecrated  earth 

And  on  the  holy  hearth 
The  Lars  and  Lemures  moan  with  midnight  plaint ; 

In  urns,  and  altars  round 

A  drear  and  dying  sound 
Affrights  the  Flamens  at  their  service  quaint ; 
And  the  chill  marble  seems  to  sweat. 
While  each  peculiar  Power  foregoes  his  wonted  seat 

Peor  and  Baalim 
Forsake  their  temples  dim. 
With  that  twice-battered  god  of  Palestine  ; 
And  moonbd  Ashtaroth, 


190  ODE   ON  CHRIST'S  NATIVITY 

Heaven's  queen  and  mother  both, 
Now  sits  not  girt  with  tapers'  holy  shine  ; 
The  Lybic  Hainmon  shiinks  his  horn, 
In  vain  the  Tyrian  maids  their  wounded  Thammuz 
mourn. 

And  sullen  Moloch,  fled, 

Hath  left  in  shadows  dread 
His  burning  idol  all  of  blackest  hue ; 

In  vain  with  cymbals'  ring 

They  call  the  grisly  king, 
In  dismal  dance  about  the  furnace  blue  ; 
The  brutish  gods  of  Nile  as  fast 
Isis,  and  Or  us,  and  the  dog  Aimbis,  haste. 

Nor  is  Osiris  seen 

In  Memphian  grove,  or  green, 
Trampling  the  unshowered  grass  with  lowings  loud : 

Nor  can  he  be  at  rest 

Within  his  sacred  chest ; 
Nought  but  profoundest  hell  can  be  his  shroud ; 
In  vain  with  timbrelled  anthems  dark 
The  sable  stolid  sorcerers  bear  his  worshipt  ark. 

He  feels  from  Juda's  land 

The  dreaded  Infant's  hand  ; 
The  rays  of  Bethlehem  blind  his  dusky  eyne ; 

Nor  all  the  gods  beside 

Longer  dare  abide. 
For  Typhon  huge  ending  in  snaky  twine  : 
Our  Babe,  to  show  his  Godhead  true, 
Can  in  his  swaddling  bands  control  the  damnM  crew. 


ALEXANDER'S  FEAST  191 

So,  when  the  sun  in  bed 

Curtained  with  cloudy  red, 
Pillows  his  chin  upon  an  orient  wave, 

The  flocking  shadows  pale 

Troop  to  the  infernal  jail, 
Each  fettered  ghost  slips  to  his  several  grave  ; 
And  the  yellow-skirted  fays 
Fly  after  the  night-steeds,  leaving  their  moon-loved 


But  see,  the  Virgin  blest 

Hath  laid  her  Babe  to  rest ; 
Time  is,  our  tedious  song  should  here  have  ending : 

Heaven's  youngest-teemed  star 

Hath  fixed  her  polished  car, 
Her  sleeping  Lord  with  hand-maid  lamp  attend- 
ing: 
And  all  about  the  courtly  stable 
Bright-harnessed  angels  sit  in  order  serviceable. 

John  Milton. 


ALEXANDER'S  FEAST:  OR,  THE  POWER  OF 

MUSIC  Dj/vv/i^^ 

'T  WAS  at  the  royal  feast  for  Persia  won 
By  Philip's  warlike  son  : 
Aloft  in  awful  state 
The  godlike  hero  sate 
On  his  imperial  throne  ; 
His  valiant  peers  were  placed  around. 
Their  brows  with  roses  and  with  myrtles  bound, 
'So  should  desert  in  arms  be  crowned  ;) 


192  ALEXANDER'S  FEAST 

The  lovely  Thais  by  his  side 

Sate  like  a  blooming  Eastern  bride 

In  flower  of  youth  and  beauty's  pride  :  -^^ 

Happy,  happy,  happy  pair ! 

None  but  the  brave, 

None  but  the  brave, 
None  but  the  brave  deserves  the  fair ! 

Timotheus,  placed  on  high 

Amid  the  tuneful  quire 

With  flying  fingers  touched  the  lyre  : 

The  trembling  notes  ascend  the  sky 

And  heavenly  joys  inspire. 

The  song  began  from  Jove, 

Who  left  his  blissful  seats  above,  — 

Such  is  the  povrer  of  mighty  love  ! 

A  dragon's  fiery  form  belied  the  god  ; 

Sublime  on  radiant  spires  he  rode 

When  he  to  fair  Olympia  prest, 

And  while  he  sought  her  snowy  breast ; 

Then  round  her  slender  waist  he  curled, 

And  stamped  an  image  of  himself,  a  sovereign  of 

the  world.  — 
The  listening  crowd  admire  the  lofty  sound ! 
A  present  deity  !  they  shout  around  ; 
A  present  deity  !  the  vaulted  roofs  rebound ! 

With  ravished  ears 

The  monarch  hears, 

Assumes  the  god  ; 

AfPects  to  nod, 
And  seems  to  shake  the  spheres. 


ALEXANDERS  FEAST  193 

The  praise  of  Bacchus  then  the  sweet  musician  sung, 

0£  Bacchus  ever  fair  and  ever  young : 

The  jolly  god  in  triumph  comes  ! 

Sound  the  trumpets,  beat  the  drums  ! 

Flushed  with  a  purple  grace. 

He  shows  his  honest  face  : 

Now   give    the    hautboys   breath ;    he   comes,   he 


comes 


Bacchus,  ever  fair  and  young. 
Drinking  joys  did  first  ordain  ; 
Bacchus'  blessings  are  a  treasure, 
Drinking  is  the  soldier's  pleasure  : 

Rich  the  treasure. 

Sweet  the  pleasure, 
Sweet  is  pleasure  after  pain. 

Soothed  with  the  sound,  the  king  grew  vain : 

Fought  all  his  battles  o'er  again. 

And  thrice  he  routed  all  his  foes,  and  thrice  he  slew 

the  slain ! 
The  master  saw  the  madness  rise, 
His  glowing  cheeks,  his  ardent  eyes  ; 
And,  while  he  Heaven  and  Earth  defied, 
Changed  his  hand  and  checked  his  pride. 
He  chose  a  mournful  Muse 
Soft  pity  to  infuse  : 
He  sung  Darius  great  and  good, 
By  too  severe  a  fate 
Fallen,  fallen,  fallen,  fallen, 
Fallen  from  his  high  estate. 
And  weltering  in  his  blood  ; 
Deserted,  at  his  utmost  need, 


194  ALEXANDER'S  FEAST 

By  those  his  former  bounty  fed ; 

On  the  bare  earth  exposed  he  lies, 

With  not  a  friend  to  close  his  eyes.  — 

With  downcast  looks  the  joyless  victor  sate, 

Revolving  in  his  altered  soul 

The  various  turns  of  Chance  below ; 

And  now  and  then  a  sigh  he  stole, 

And  tears  began  to  flow. 

The  mighty  master  smiled  to  see 

That  love  was  in  the  next  degree ; 

'T  was  but  a  kindred  sound  to  move, 

For  pity  melts  the  mind  to  love. 

Softly  sweet,  in  Lydian  measures. 

Soon  he  soothed  his  soul  to  pleasures. 

War,  he  sung,  is  toil  and  trouble. 

Honor  but  an  empty  bubble. 

Never  ending,  still  beginning  ; 

Fighting  still,  and  still  destroying ; 

If  the  world  be  worth  thy  winning. 

Think,  O  think,  it  worth  enjoying : 

Lovely  Thais  sits  beside  thee. 

Take  the  good  the  gods  provide  thee  !  — 

The  many  rend  the  skies  with  loud  applause  : 

So  Love  was  crowned,  but  Music  won  the  causec 

The  prince,  unable  to  conceal  his  pain. 

Gazed  on  the  fair 

Who  caused  his  care. 
And  sighed  and  looked,  sighed  and  looked, 
Sighed  and  looked,  and  sighed  again  : 
At  length,  with  love  and  wine  at  once  opprest, 
The  vanquished  victor  sunk  upon  her  breast. 


ALEXANDER'S  FEAST  195 

Now  strike  the  golden  lyre  again  : 

A  louder  yet,  and  yet  a  louder  strain  ! 

Break  his  bands  of  sleep  asunder, 

And  rouse  him  like  a  rattling  peal  of  thunder. 

Hark,  hark  !  the  horrid  sound 

Has  raised  up  his  head  : 

As  awaked  from  the  dead 

And  amazed,  he  stares  around. 

Revenge,  revenge,  Timotheus  cries, 

See  the  Furies  arise  ! 

See  the  snakes  that  they  rear, 

How  they  hiss  in  their  hair. 

And  the  sparkles  that  flash  from  their  eyes  ! 

Behold  a  ghastly  band, 

Each  a  torch  in  his  hand  ! 

Those  are  Grecian  ghosts,  that  in  battle  were  slain 

And  unburied  remain 

Inglorious  on  the  plain  : 

Give  the  vengeance  due 

To  the  valiant  crew  ! 

Behold  how  they  toss  their  torches  on  high, 

How  they  point  to  the  Persian  abodes 

And  glittering  temples  of  their  hostile  gods.  — 

The  princes  applaud  with  a  furious  joy  ; 

And  the  King  seized  a  flambeau  with  zeal  to  de 

stroy ; 
Thais  led  the  way 
To  light  liim  to  his  prey. 
And,  like  another  Helen,  fired  another  Troy ! 

Thus,  long  ago. 
Ere  heaving  bellows  learned  to  blow, 


196  LA  BELLE  DAME  SANS  MERCY 

While  organs  yet  were  mute, 

Timotheus,  to  his  breathing  flute 

And  sounding  lyre, 

Could  swell  the  soul  to  rage,  or  kindle  soft  desire. 

At  last  divine  Cecilia  came, 

Inventress  of  the  vocal  frame  ; 

The  sweet  enthusiast  from  her  sacred  store 

Enlarged  the  former  narrow  bounds. 

And  added  length  to  solemn  sounds, 

With  Nature's  mother-wit,  and  arts  unknown  be* 

fore. — 
Let  old  Timotheus  yield  the  prize, 
Or  both  divide  the  crown  ; 
He  raised  a  mortal  to  the  skies  ; 
She  drew  an  angel  down  ! 

John  Dryden. 

LA  BELLE  DAME  SANS  MERCY    f^iSJli^ 

"  Ah  !  what  can  ail  thee,  wretched  wight, 
Alone  and  palely  loitering  ? 
The  sedge  is  withered  from  the  lake, 
And  no  birds  sing. 

"  Ah  !  what  can  all  thee,  wretched  wight. 
So  haggard  and  so  woebegone  ? 
The  squirrel's  granary  is  fuU, 
And  the  harvest 's  done. 

'^^  I  see  a  lily  on  thy  brow. 

With  anguish  moist  and  fever-dew ; 
And  on  thy  cheek  a  fading  rose 
Fast  withereth,  too." 


LA  BELLE   DAME  SANS   MERCY         197 

**  I  met  a  lady  in  the  meads, 

Full  beautiful,  —  a  fairy's  child  ; 
Her  hair  was  long,  her  foot  was  light, 
And  her  eyes  were  wild. 

"  I  set  her  on  my  pacing  steed, 

And  nothing  else  saw  all  day  long ; 
For  sideways  would  she  lean  and  sing 
A  fairy's  song. 

**  I  made  a  garland  for  her  head. 

And  bracelets,  too,  and  fragrant  zone ; 
She  looked  at  me  as  she  did  love, 
And  made  sweet  moan. 

**  She  found  me  roots  of  relish  sweet, 
And  honey  wild,  and  manna-dew ; 
And  sure  in  language  strange  she  said, 
'  I  love  thee  true.' 

*'  She  took  me  to  her  elfin  grot, 

And  there  she  gazed  and  sighed  full  sore 
And  there  I  shut  her  wild,  sad  eyes 
"With  kisses  four. 

**  And  there  she  lulled  me  asleep. 

And  there  I  dreamed,  ah  !  woe  betide, 
The  latest  dream  I  ever  dreamed. 
On  the  cold  hillside  : 

"  I  saw  pale  kings  and  princes,  too, 

Pale  warriors,  —  death-pale  were  they  all  j 


198        THE   WANDERING  KNIGHT'S  SONG 

Who  cried,  '  La  Belle  Dame  Sans  Mercy 
Hath  thee  in  thrall !  ' 

*'  I  saw  their  starved  lips  in  the  gloom, 
With  hori'id  warning  gaped  wide  ; 
And  I  awoke,  and  found  me  here 
On  the  cold  hUlside. 

*'  And  this  is  why  I  sojourn  here, 
Alone  and  palely  loitering  ; 
Though  the  sedge  is  withered  from  the  lake, 
And  no  birds  sing." 

John  KeaiSt 

THE  WANDERING  KNIGHT'S  SONG 

From  the  Spanish 

My  ornaments  are  arms, 

My  pastime  is  in  war. 
My  bed  is  cold  upon  the  wold, 

My  lamp  yon  star. 

My  journeyings  are  long, 

My  slumbers  short  and  broken ; 

From  hiU  to  hill  I  wander  still. 
Kissing  thy  token. 

I  ride  from  land  to  land, 

I  sail  from  sea  to  sea  ;  ' 

Some  day  more  kind  I  fate  may  find, 
Some  night,  kiss  thee. 

John  Gibson  Lockhart. 


TO   TUE  NIGHT  199 


TO  THE   NIGHT 


TktJUUf 


Swiftly  walk  over  the  western  wave^ 

Spirit  of  Night ! 
Out  of  the  misty  eastern  cave, 
Where  all  the  long  and  lone  daylight 
Thou  wovest  dreams  of  joy  and  fear 
Which  make  thee  terrible  and  dear,  — 

Swift  be  thy  flight ! 

Wrap  thy  form  in  a  mantle  gray, 

Star-inwrought ! 
Blind  with  thine  hair  the  eyes  of  day. 
Kiss  her  until  she  be  wearied  out, 
Then  wander  o'er  city,  and  sea,  and  land, 
Touching  all  with  thine  opiate  wand,  — 

Come,  long-sought ! 

When  I  arose  and  saw  the  dawn, 

I  sighed  for  thee  ; 
When  light  rode  high,  and  the  dew  was  gone. 
And  noon  lay  heavy  on  flower  and  tree, 
And  the  weary  Day  turned  to  his  rest, 
Lingering  like  an  unloved  guest, 

I  sighed  for  thee. 

Thy  brother  Death  came,  and  cried, 

Would st  thou  me  ? 
Tliy  sweet  child  Sleep,  the  filmy-eyed, 
Murmured  like  a  noontide  bee, 


200      LOOKING   INTO   CHAFMANS  HOMER 

Shall  I  nestle  neai"  thy  side  ? 
Wouldst  thou  me  ?     And  I  replied, 
No,  not  thee  ! 

Death  will  come  when  thou  art  dead, 

Soon,  too  soon  ; 
Sleep  will  come  when  thou  art  fled  ; 
Of  neither  would  I  ask  the  hoon 
I  ask  of  thee,  belovfed  Night  — 
Swift  be  thine  approaching  flight, 

Come  soon,  soon  ! 

Percy  Bysshe  Shelley^ 


ON  FIRST  LOOKING  INTO   CHAPMAN'S 

HOMER  fCC4J^/ 

m 

Much  have  I  traveled  in  the  realms  of  gold. 

And  many  goodly  states  and  kingdoms  seen ; 

Round  many  western  islands  have  I  been 

Which  bards  in  fealty  to  Apollo  hold. 

'^ft  of  one  wide  expanse  had  I  been  told 

That  deep-browed  Homer  ruled  as  his  demesne ; 

Yet  did  I  never  breathe  its  pure  serene 

Till   I   heard   Chapman   speak    out    loud    and 

bold : 
Then  felt  I  like  some  watcher  of  the  skies 
When  a  new  planet  swims  into  his  ken  ; 
Or  like  stout  Cortes  when  with  eagle  eyes 
He  stared  at  the  Pacific,  —  and  all  his  men 
Looked  at  each  other  with  a  wild  surmise,  — 
Silent,  upon  a  peak  in  Darien. 

John  Keats. 


THE   TIGER  201 


THE  TIGER 


Tiger,  tiger,  buralng  bright 

In  the  forests  of  the  night, 

What  immortal  hand  or  eye 

Could  frame  thy  fearful  symmetry  ? 

In  what  distant  deeps  or  skies 
Burnt  the  fire  of  thine  eyes  ? 
On  what  wings  dare  he  asjjire  ? 
What  the  hand  dare  seize  the  fire  ? 

And  what  shoulder  and  what  art, 
Could  twist  the  sinews  of  thy  heart  ? 
And  when  thy  heart  began  to  beat, 
What  dread  hand,  and  what  dread  feet  ? 

What  the  hammer  ?    What  the  chain  ? 
In  what  furnace  was  thy  brain  ? 
What  the  anvil  ?    What  dread  grasp 
Dare  its  deadly  terrors  clasp  ? 

When  the  stars  threw  down  their  spears, 
And  watered  heaven  with  their  tears, 
Did  He  smile  his  work  to  see  ? 
Did  He  who  made  the  lamb  make  thee  ? 

Tiger,  tiger,  burning  bright 
In  the  forests  of  the  night. 
What  immortal  hand  or  eye 
Dare  frame  thy  fearful  symmetry  ? 

William  Blake, 


202  nOUENLINDEN 


HOHENLINDEN  i 

On  Linden,  when  the  sun  was  low, 
All  bloodless  lay  the  untrodden  snow ; 
And  dark  as  winter  was  the  flow 
Of  Iser,  rolling  rapidly. 

But  Linden  saw  another  sight, 
When  the  drum  beat  at  dead  of  night, 
Commanding  fires  of  death  to  light 
The  darkness  of  her  scenery. 

By  torch  and  trumpet  fast  arrayed, 
Each  horseman  drew  his  battle-blade, 
And  furious  every  charger  neighed 
To  join  the  dreadful  revelry. 

Then  shook  the  hills  with  thunder  riven  $ 
Then  rushed  the  steed  to  battle  driven, 
And  louder  than  the  bolts  of  Heaven, 
Far  flashed  the  red  artillery. 

But  redder  yet  that  light  shall  glow 
On  Linden's  hills  of  stained  snow ; 
And  bloodier  yet  the  torrent  flow 
Of  Iser,  rolling  rapidly. 

'T  is  morn,  but  scarce  yon  level  sun 
Can  pierce  the  war-clouds,  rolling  dun. 
Where  furious  Frank  and  fiery  Hun 
Shout  in  their  sulph'rous  canopy. 

•I  Note  15. 


SONG— THE  ROVER  203 

The  combat  deepens.     On,  ye  brave 
"Who  rush  to  glory,  or  the  grave  ! 
Wave,  Munich  !  all  thy  banners  wave, 
And  charge  with  all  thy  chivalry ! 

Few,  few  shall  part  where  many  meet ! 
The  snow  shall  be  their  winding-sheet, 
And  every  turf  beneath  their  feet 
Shall  be  a  soldier's  sepulchre. 

Thomas  Campbell. 


SONG 


Xe*-#vcJ 


Hark,  hark  !  the  lark  at  heaven's  gate  sings, 

And  Phoebus  'gins  arise, 
His  steeds  to  water  at  those  springs 

On  chaUced  flowers  that  lies  ; 
And  winking  Mary-buds  begin 

To  ope  their  golden  eyes  ; 

With  everything~that  pretty  bin, 

My  lady  sweet,  arise  ; 

Arise,  arise ! 

Shakespeare, 

THE  ROVER 

*'  A  WEARY  lot  is  thine,  fair  maid, 

A  weary  lot  is  thine  ! 
To  pull  the  thorn  thy  brow  to  braid. 

And  press  the  rue  for  wine. 
A  lightsome  eye,  a  soldier's  mien, 

A  feather  of  the  blue. 


204      THE  BURIAL   OF  SIR  JOHN  MOORE 

A  doublet  of  the  Lincoln  green,  — » 
No  more  of  me  you  knew, 

My  Love  ! 
No  more  of  me  you  knew. 

**  The  morn  is  merry  June,  I  trow, 
The  rose  is  budding  fain  ; 
But  she  shall  bloom  in  winter  snow 

Ere  we  two  meet  again." 
He  turned  his  charger  as  he  spake 

Upon  the  river  shore. 
He  gave  the  bridle-reins  a  shake. 
Said,  "  Adieu  for  evermore. 

My  Love  ! 
And  adieu  for  evermore." 

Sir  Walter  Scott, 

THE  BURIAL  OF  SIR  JOHN  MOORE  AT 
CORUNNA 1 

Not  a  drum  was  heard,  not  a  funeral  note, 
As  his  corse  to  the  rampart  we  hurried  ; 

Not  a  soldier  discharged  his  farewell  shot 
O'er  the  grave  where  our  hero  we  buried. 

We  buried  him  darkly  at  dead  of  night. 
The  sods  with  our  bayonets  turning  ; 

By  the  struggling  moonbeam's  misty  light, 
And  the  lantern  dimly  burning. 

No  useless  coflfin  inclosed  his  breast. 

Nor  in  sheet  nor  in  shroud  we  wound  him ; 

1  Note  16. 


U/0lI^ 


THE  BURIAL   OF  SIR  JOHN  MOORE      205 

But  he  lay  like  a  warrior  taking  liis  rest, 
With  his  martial  cloak  around  him. 

Few  and  short  were  the  prayers  we  said, 
And  we  spoke  not  a  word  of  sorrow ; 

But  we  steadfastly  gazed  on  the  face  of  the  dead. 
And  we  bitterly  thought  of  the  morrow. 

We  thought,  as  we  hollowed  his  narrow  bed, 
And  smoothed  down  his  lonely  pillow, 

That  the  foe  and  the  stranger  would  tread  o'er  his 
head, 
And  we  far  away  on  the  billow ! 

Lightly  they  '11  talk  of  the  spirit  that 's  gone, 
And  o'er  his  cold  ashes  upbraid  him ; 

But  little  he  '11  reck,  if  they  let  him  sleep  on 
In  the  grave  where  a  Briton  has  laid  him. 

But  half  of  our  heavy  task  was  done, 

When  the  clock  tolled  the  hour  for  retiring  ; 

And  we  heard  the  distant  and  random  gun 
That  the  foe  was  sullenly  firing. 

Slowly  and  sadly  we  laid  him  down. 

From  the  field  of  his  fame  fresh  and  gory ; 

We  carved  not  a  line,  and  we  raised  not  a  stone, 
But  we  left  him  alone  with  his  glory ! 

Charles  Wolfe. 


206  THE  VOICE  OF  THE  SEA 


REQUIEM  f^l^irtuJuUui^r^ 


Under  the  wide  and  starry  sky 
Dig  the  grave,  and  let  me  lie. 
Glad  did  I  live,  and  gladly  die, 

And  I  laid  me  down  with  a  will. 

This  be  the  verse  you  grave  for  me : 
Here  he  lies  where  he  longed  to  be  ; 
Home  is  the  sailor,  home  from  sea, 

And  the  hunter  home  from  the  hill. 

Robert  Louis  Stevensotte 


THE  VOICE  OF  THE  SEA 

In  the  hush  of  the  autumn  night 
I  hear  the  voice  of  the  sea. 
In  the  hush  of  the  autumn  night 
It  seems  to  say  to  me : 
Mine  are  the  winds  above, 
Mine  are  the  caves  below, 
Mine  are  the  dead  of  yesterday, 
And  the  dead  of  long  ago ! 

And  I  think  of  the  fleet  that  sailed 
From  the  lovely  Gloucester  shore, 
I  think  of  the  fleet  that  sailed 
And  came  back  nevermore  ; 
My  eyes  are  filled  with  tears, 
And  my  heart  is  numb  with  woe : 


TEE  BATTLE  OF  AGINCOURT  207 

It  seems  as  if  't  were  yesterday, 
And  it  all  was  long  ago. 

Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich. 


THE  "OLD,  OLD  SONG" 

When  all  the  world  is  young,  lad, 

And  all  the  trees  are  green ; 
And  every  goose  a  swan,  lad. 

And  every  lass  a  queen,  — 
Then  hey  for  boot  and  horse,  lad, 

And  round  the  world  away  ; 
Young  blood  must  have  its  course,  lad, 

And  every  dog  his  day. 

When  all  the  world  is  old,  lad, 

And  all  the  trees  are  brown ; 
And  all  the  sport  is  stale,  lad. 

And  all  the  wheels  run  down,  — 
Creep  home,  and  take  your  place  there. 

The  spent  and  maimed  among : 
God  grant  you  find  one  face  there 

You  loved  when  all  was  young. 

Charles  Kingsley. 


Fair  stood  the  wind  for  France      /^t-#l*VV>>x 

When  we  our  sails  advance, 
Nor  now  to  prove  our  chance 
Longer  will  tarry ; 


K^^< 


208     THE  BATTLE   OF  AGINCOURT 

But  putting  to  the  main, 
At  Kaux,  the  mouth  of  Seine; 
With  all  his  mai'tial  train, 
Lauded  King  Harry. 

And  taking  many  a  fort, 
Furnished  in  warlike  sort, 
Marcheth  towards  Agincourt 

In  happy  hour ; 
Skirmishing  day  hy  day 
With  those  that  stopped  his  wajj 
Where  the  French  general  lay 

With  all  his  power ; 

Which  in  his  height  of  pride, 
King  Henry  to  deride, 
His  ransom  to  provide 

To  the  King  sending  ; 
Which  he  neglects  the  while, 
As  from  a  nation  vile, 
Yet  with  an  angry  smile, 

Their  fall  portending. 

And  turning  to  his  men. 
Quoth  our  brave  Henry  thenj 
<^*  Though  they  to  one  be  ten, 

Be  not  amazed  ! 
Yet  have  we  well  begun, 
Battles  so  bravely  won 
Have  ever  to  the  sun 

By  fame  been  raised. 


THE  BATTLE   OF  AGINCOURT  209 

"  And  for  myself,"  quoth  he, 
*'  Tliis  my  full  rest  shall  be  ; 
England,  ne'er  mourn  for  me, 

Nor  more  esteem  me. 
Victor  I  will  remain, 
Or  on  this  earth  lie  slain ; 
Never  shall  she  sustain 
Loss  to  redeem  me. 

"  Poitiers  and  Cressy  tell, 
When  most  their  pride  did  swell. 
Under  our  swords  they  f  eU  : 

No  less  our  skill  is 
Then  when  our  grandsire  great. 
Claiming  the  regal  seat, 
By  many  a  warlike  feat 
Lopped  the  French  lilies." 

The  Duke  of  York  so  dread 
The  eager  vaward  led  ; 
With  the  main,  Henry  sped 

Amongst  his  henchmen. 
Exeter  had  the  rear, 
A  braver  man  not  there ; 
Oh,  Lord  !  how  hot  they  were 

On  the  false  Frenchmen  ! 

They  now  to  fight  are  gone : 
Armor  on  armor  shone. 
Drum  now  to  drum  did  groan, 
To  hear  was  wonder : 


210  THE  BATTLE   OF  AGINCOURT 

That  with  the  cries  they  make 
The  very  earth  did  shake ; 
Trumpet  to  trumpet  spake, 
Thunder  to  thunder. 

Well  it  thine  age  became, 
O  noble  Erpingliam, 
Which  did  the  signal  aim 

To  our  hid  forces  ; 
When  from  a  meadow  by. 
Like  a  storm  suddenly, 
The  English  archery 

Stuck  the  French  horses. 

With  Spanish  yew  so  strong, 
Arrows  a  cloth-yard  long, 
That  like  to  serpents  stung, 

Piercing  the  weather ; 
None  from  his  feUow  starts, 
But  playing  manly  parts. 
And  like  true  English  hearts, 

Stuck  close  together. 

When  down  their  bows  they  threw, 
And  forth  their  bilbows  drew. 
And  on  the  French  they  flew. 

Not  one  was  tardy  ; 
Arms  were  from  shoulders  sent ; 
Scalps  to  the  teeth  were  rent  ; 
Down  the  French  peasants  went : 

Our  men  were  hardy. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  AGIN  COURT  211 

This  while  our  noble  king, 
His  broadsword  brandishing, 
Down  the  French  host  did  ding, 

As  to  o'erwhelm  it ; 
And  many  a  deep  wound  lent 
His  arms  with  blood  besprent, 
And  many  a  cruel  dent 

Bruised  his  helmet. 

Gloucester,  that  duke  so  good, 
Next  of  the  royal  blood, 
For  famous  England  stood, 

With  his  brave  brother ; 
Clarence,  in  steel  so  bright, 
Though  but  a  maiden  knight, 
Yet  in  that  furious  fight 

Scarce  such  another. 

Warwick  in  blood  did  wade, 
Oxford  the  foe  invade, 
And  cruel  slaughter  made. 

Still  as  they  ran  up  ; 
Suffolk  his  axe  did  ply, 
Beaumont  and  Willoughby 
Bare  them  right  doughtily,  -^ 

Ferrers  and  Fanhope. 

Upon  Saint  Crispin's  day 
Fought  was  this  noble  fray. 
Which  fame  did  not  delay 

To  England  to  carry.  ^ 

ph.  when  shall  Englishmen       ^c^^-^t-^^  l/'^ 


212  TELLING  THE  BEES 

With  such  acts  fill  a  jpen, 

Or  England  breecLagaiu 

"Buch  a  King  Harry  ! 

Michael  Drayton, 

TELLING  THE  BEES  i 

Here  is  the  place  ;  right  over  the  hill 

Runs  the  path  I  took ; 
You  can  see  the  gap  in  the  old  wall  still, 

And  the  stepping-stones  in  the  shallow  brook. 

There  is  the  house,  with  the  gate  red-barred, 

And  the  poplars  tall ; 
And  the  barn's  brown  length,  and  the  cattle-yard, 

And  the  white  horns  tossing  above  the  wall. 

There  are  the  beehives  ranged  in  the  sun ; 

And  down  by  the  brink 
Of  the  brook  are  her  poor  flowers,  weed-o'errun, 

Pansy  and  daffodil,  rose  and  pink. 

A  year  has  gone,  as  the  tortoise  goes, 

Heavy  and  slow ; 
And  the  same  rose  blows,  and  the  same  sun  glows, 

And  the  same  brook  sings  of  a  year  ago. 

There  's  the  same  sweet  clover-smeU  in  the  breeze  ; 

And  the  June  sun  warm 
Tangles  Ids  wings  of  fire  in  the  trees, 

Setting,  as  then,  over  Fernside  Farm. 

1  Note  17, 


TELLING  TEE  BEE3  213 

I  mind  me  how  with  a  lover's  care 

From  my  Smiclay  coat 
I  brushed  off  the  burrs,  and  smoothed  my  hair, 

And  cooled  at  the  brookside  my  brow  and  throat 

Since  we  parted,  a  month  had  passed,  — 

To  love,  a  year  ; 
Down  through  the  beeches  I  looked  at  last 

On  the  Uttle  red  gate  and  the  well-sweep  near. 

I  can  see  it  all  now,  —  the  slantwise  rain 

Of  light  through  the  leaves. 
The  sundown's  blaze  on  her  window-pane, 

The  bloom  of  her  roses  under  the  eaves. 

Just  the  same  as  a  month  before,  — 

The  house  and  the  ti-ees, 
The  barn's  brown  gable,  the  vine  by  the  door,  — «■ 

Nothing  changed  but  the  hives  of  bees. 

Before  them,  under  the  garden  wall, 

Forward  and  back, 
Went  drearily  singing  the  chore-girl  small. 

Draping  each  hive  with  a  shred  of  black. 

Trembling,  I  listened  :  the  summer  sun 

Had  the  chill  of  snow  ; 
For  I  knew  she  was  telling  the  bees  of  one 

Gone  on  the  journey  we  all  must  go! 

Then  I  said  to  myself,  "  My  Mary  weeps 
For  the  dead  to-day  : 


214  DAYBREAK 

Haply  her  blind  old  grandsire  sleeps 
The  fret  and  the  pain  of  his  age  away." 

But  her  dog  whined  low  ;  on  the  doorway  sill, 

With  his  cane  to  his  chin, 
The  old  man  sat ;  and  the  chore-girl  still 

Sung  to  the  bees  stealing  out  and  in. 

And  the  song  she  was  singing  ever  since 
In  my  ear  sounds  on  :  — 
"  Stay  at  home,  pretty  bees,  fly  not  hence  ! 
Mistress  Mary  is  dead  and  gone  !  " 

John  Greenleaf  Whittieft 


DAYBREAK 


l.0^f.UUkr 


A  "WIND  came  up  out  of  the  sea, 

And  said,  "  0  mists,  make  room  for  me." 

It  hailed  the  ships,  and  cried,  "Sail  on, 
Ye  mariners,  the  night  is  gone." 

And  hurried  landward  far  away, 
Crying,  "  Awake  !  it  is  the  day." 

it  said  unto  the  forest,  "  Shout ! 
Hang  all  your  leafy  banners  out !  " 

It  touched  the  wood-bird's  folded  wing, 
And  said,  "  O  bird,  awake  and  sing." 


THE  HUMBLE-BEE  215 

And  o'er  the  farms,  "  O  chanticleer, 
Your  clarion  blow ;  the  day  is  near." 

It  whispered  to  the  fields  of  corn, 
**  Bow  down,  and  hail  the  coming  morn.'* 

It  shouted  through  the  belfry-tower, 
"  Awake,  O  bell !  proclaim  the  hour." 

It  crossed  the  churchyard  with  a  sigh, 
And  said,  "  Not  yet !  in  quiet  he." 

Henry  Wadsworth  LongfelloWo 


THE  HUMBLE-BEE 

Burly,  dozing  humble-bee, 
Where  thou  art  is  clime  for  me. 
Let  them  sail  for  Porto  Rique, 
Far-off  heats  through  seas  to  seek ; 
I  will  follow  thee  alone, 
Thou  animated  torrid  zone  ! 
Zigzag  steerer,  desert  cheerer, 
Let  me  chase  thy  waving  lines  ; 
Keep  me  nearer,  me  thy  hearer, 
Singing  over  shrubs  and  vines. 

Insect  lover  of  the  sun, 
Joy  of  thy  dominion  ! 
Sailor  of  the  atmosphere  ; 
Swimmer  through  the  waves  of  air ; 
Voyager  of  light  and  noon  ; 


216  THE  HUMBLE-BEE 

Epicurean  of  June,  — 
Wait,  I  prithee,  till  I  come 
Within  earshot  of  thy  hum,  — 
All  without  is  martyrdom. 

When  the  south  wind,  in  May  days, 
With  a  net  of  shining  haze 
Silvers  the  horizon  wall. 
And  with  softness  touching  all, 
Tints  the  human  countenance 
With  a  color  of  romance, 
And,  infusing  subtle  heats, 
Turns  the  sod  to  violets, 
Thou,  in  sunny  solitudes, 
Rover  of  the  underwoods, 
The  green  silence  dost  displace 
With  thy  mellow,  breezy  bass. 

Hot  midsummer's  petted  crone. 
Sweet  to  me  thy  drowsy  tone 
Tells  of  countless  sunny  hours, 
Long  days,  and  solid  banks  of  flowers 
Of  gulfs  of  sweetness  without  bound 
In  Indian  wildernesses  found  ; 
Of  Syrian  peace,  immortal  leisure. 
Firmest  cheer,  and  bird-like  pleasure. 

Aught  unsavory  or  unclean 

Hath  my  insect  never  seen  ; 

But  violets  and  bilberry  bells, 

Maple-sap  and  daffodels. 

Grass  with  green  flag  half-mast  high, 


INDIAN  SUMMER  217 

Succory  to  match  the  sky, 
Columbine  with  horn  of  honey, 
Scented  fern,  and  agrimony, 
Clover,  catchfly,  adder's-tongue 
And  brier-roses,  dwelt  among  ; 
All  beside  was  unknown  waste, 
AU  was  picture  as  he  passed. 

Wiser  far  than  human  seer. 
Yellow-breeched  philosopher ! 
Seeing  only  what  is  fair. 
Sipping  only  what  is  sweet. 
Thou  dost  mock  at  fate  and  care, 
Leave  the  chaff  and  take  the  wheat ; 
When  the  fierce  northwestern  blast 
Cools  sea  and  land  so  far  and  fast, 
Thou  already  slumberest  deep  ; 
Woe  and  want  thou  canst  outsleep  : 
Want  and  woe,  which  torture  us, 
Thy  sleep  makes  ridiculous. 

Balph  Waldo  Emerson, 


INDIAN  SUMMER 

From  gold  to  gray 

Our  mild,  sweet  day 
Of  Indian  summer  fades  too  soon  ; 

But  tenderly 

Above  the  sea 
Hangs,  white  and  calm,  the  hunter's  moon. 


218  TWILIGHT 

In  its  pale  fire 

The  village  spire 
Shows  like  the  zodiac's  spectral  lance ; 

The  painted  walls 

Whei'eon  it  falls 
Transfigured  stand  in  marble  trance. 

John  Greenleaf  Whittier^ 

TWILIGHT 

The  twilight  is  sad  and  cloudy, 
The  wind  blows  loud  and  free, 

And  like  the  wings  of  seabirds 
Flash  the  white  caps  of  the  sea. 

But  in  the  fisherman's  cottage 
There  shines  a  ruddier  light. 

And  a  little  face  at  the  window 
Peers  out  into  the  night. 

Close,  close  it  is  pressed  to  the  window. 

As  if  those  childish  eyes 
Were  looking  into  the  darkness 

To  see  some  form  arise. 

And  a  woman's  waving  shadow 

Is  passing  to  and  fro, 
Now  rising  to  the  ceiling, 

Now  bowing  and  bending  low. 

What  tale  do  the  roaring  ocean 

And  the  night-wind,  bleak  and  wild. 


MARCH  219 

As  they  beat  at  the  crazy  casement, 
Tell  to  that  little  child  ? 

And  why  do  the  roaring  ocean, 

And  the  night-wind,  wild  and  bleak, 

As  they  beat  at  the  heart  of  the  mother. 
Drive  the  color  from  her  cheek  ? 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow^ 


MARCH 

The  cock  is  crowing. 

The  stream  is  flowing, 

The  small  birds  twitter, 

The  lake  doth  glitter, 
The  green  field  sleeps  in  the  smi ; 

The  oldest  and  youngest 

Are  at  work  with  the  strongest ; 

The  cattle  are  grazing, 

Their  heads  never  raising  ; 
There  are  foi-ty  feeding  like  one. 

Like  an  army  defeated 

The  snow  hath  retreated. 

And  now  doth  fare  ill 

On  the  top  of  the  bare  hill ; 
The  plough-boy  is  whooping,  anon,  anon  I 

There  's  joy  on  the  mountains. 

There  's  life  in  the  fountains  ; 

Small  clouds  are  sailing. 

Blue  sky  prevailing, 
The  rain  is  over  and  gone. 

William  Wordsworth. 


220  ALEC    YEATON'S  SON 

ALEC   YEATON'S  SON 

Gloucester,  August,  1720. 

The  wind  it  wailed,  the  wind  it  moaned, 
And  the  white  caps  flecked  the  sea ; 
"  An'  I  would  to  God,"  the  skipper  groaned, 
"  I  had  not  my  boy  with  me  !  " 

Snug  in  the  stem-sheets,  little  John 
Laughed  as  the  scud  swept  by  ; 

But  the  skipper's  sunburnt  cheek  grew  wan 
As  he  watched  the  wicked  sky. 

**  Would  he  were  at  his  mother's  side  !" 
And  the  skipper's  eyes  were  dim. 

"  Good  Lord  in  heaven,  if  ill  betide, 
What  would  become  of  him  ! 

"  For  me,  my  muscles  are  as  steel. 
For  me  let  hap  what  may ; 
I  might  make  shift  upon  the  keel 
Until  the  break  o'  day. 

"  But  he,  he  is  so  weak  and  small, 

So  young,  scarce  learned  to  stand,  — 
O  pitying  Father  of  us  all, 
I  trust  him  in  thy  hand  ! 

"  For  thou,  who  markest  from  on  high 
A  sparrow's  fall,  each  one ! 
Surely,  0  Lord,  thou  'It  have  an  eye 
On  Alec  Yeaton's  son  !  " 


ALEC    YEATON'S   SON  221 

Then,  helm  hard-port,  right  straight  he  sailed 

Towards  the  headland  light : 
The  wind  it  moaned,  the  wind  it  wailed, 

And  black,  black  fell  the  night. 

Then  burst  a  storm  to  make  one  quail 

Though  housed  from  winds  and  waves,  — 

They  who  could  tell  about  that  gale 
Must  rise  from  watery  graves ! 

Sudden  it  came,  as  sudden  went ; 

Ere  half  the  night  was  sped, 
The  winds  were  hushed,  the  waves  were  spent, 

And  the  stars  shone  overhead. 

Now,  as  the  morning  mist  grew  thin, 

The  folk  on  Gloucester  shore 
Saw  a  little  figure  floating  in. 

Secure,  on  a  broken  oar ! 

Up  rose  the  cry,  "  A  wreck !  a  wreck ! 

Pull,  mates,  and  waste  no  breath !  " 
They  knew  it,  though  't  was  but  a  speck 

Upon  the  edge  of  death ! 

Long  did  they  marvel  in  the  town 

At  God  his  strange  decree. 
That  let  the  stalwart  skipper  drown. 

And  the  little  child  go  free ! 

Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich. 


222  ANNIE  LAURIE 


ANNIE  LAURIE 


Maxwelton  braes  are  bonnie 
Where  early  fa's  the  dew, 
And  it 's  there  that  Annie  Laurie 
Gie'd  me  her  promise  true,  — 
Gie'd  me  her  promise  true. 
Which  ne'er  forgot  will  be  ; 
And  for  bonnie  Annie  Laurie 
I  'd  lay  me  doune  and  dee. 

Her  brow  is  like  the  snaw-drift, 
Her  tliroat  is  like  the  swan, 
Her  face  it  is  the  fairest 
That  e'er  the  sun  shone  on,  — 
That  e'er  the  sun  shone  on  ; 
And  dark  blue  is  her  ee  ; 
And  for  bonnie  Annie  Laurie 
I  'd  lay  me  doune  and  dee. 

Like  dew  on  the  gowan  lying 
Is  the  fa'  o'  her  fairy  feet ; 
Like  the  winds  in  summer  sighing; 
Her  voice  is  low  and  sweet,  — 
Her  voice  is  low  and  sweet ; 
And  she  's  a'  the  world  to  me  ; 
And  for  bonnie  Annie  Laurie 
I  'd  lay  me  doune  and  dee. 


Unknown, 


THE  BALLAD   OF  ORIANA  223 


THE  BALLAD  OF  ORIANA 

My  heart  is  wasted  with  my  woe, 

Oriana. 
There  is  no  rest  for  me  below, 

Oriana. 
When  the  long,  dun  wolds  are  ribbed  with  snow, 
And  loud  the  Norland  whirlwinds  blow, 

Oriana, 
Alone  I  wander  to  and  fro, 

Oriana. 

Ere  the  light  on  dark  was  growing, 

Oriana, 
At  midnight  the  cock  was  crowing, 

Oriana  : 
"Winds  were  blowing,  waters  flowing, 
"We  heard  the  steeds  to  battle  going, 

Oriana  ; 
Aloud  the  hollow  bugle  blowing, 

Oriana. 

In  the  yew-wood  black  as  night, 

Oriana, 
Ere  I  rode  into  the  fight, 

Oriana, 
"While  blissful  tears  blinded  my  sight 
By  star-shine  and  by  moonlight, 

Oriana, 
I  to  thee  my  troth  did  plight, 

Oriana. 


224  TEE  BALLAD   OF   ORIANA 

She  stood  upon  the  castle  wall, 

Oriana  : 
She  watched  my  crest  among  them  all, 

Oriana : 
She  saw  me  fight,  she  heard  me  call, 
When  forth  there  stept  a  foeman  tall, 

Oriana, 
Atween  me  and  the  castle  wall, 

Oriana. 

The  bitter  arrow  went  aside, 

Oriana : 
The  false,  false  arrow  went  aside, 

Oriana : 
The  damned  arrow  glanced  aside, 
And  pierced  thy  heart,  my  love,  my  bride, 

Oriana ! 
Thy  heart,  my  life,  my  love,  my  bride, 

Oriana  ! 

Oh  !  narrow,  narrow  was  the  space, 

Oriana. 
Loud,  loud  rung  out  the  bugle's  brays, 

Oriana. 
Oh  !  deathful  stabs  were  dealt  apace, 
The  battle  deepened  in  its  place, 

Oriana ; 
But  I  was  down  upon  my  face, 

Oriana ! 

They  should  have  stabbed  me  where  I  lay, 
Oriana ! 


THE  BALLAD   OF  ORIANA  225 

How  could  I  rise  and  come  away, 

Oriana  ? 
How  could  I  look  upon  the  day  ? 
They  should  have  stabbed  me  where  I  lay, 

Oriana,  — 
They  should  have  trod  me  into  clay, 

Oriana. 

O  breaking  heart  that  will  not  break, 
Oriana ! 

0  pale,  pale  face  so  sweet  and  meek, 

Oriana ! 
Thou  smilest,  but  thou  dost  not  speak, 
And  then  the  tears  run  down  my  cheek, 

Oriana  : 
What  wantest  thou  ?  whom  dost  thou  seekj 

Oriana  ? 

1  cry  aloud  :  none  hear  my  cries, 

Oriana. 
Thou  comest  atween  me  and  the  skieSj 

Oriana. 
I  feel  the  tears  of  blood  arise 
Up  from  my  heart  unto  my  eyes, 

Oriana. 
Within  thy  heart  my  arrow  lies, 

Oriana. 

O  cursbd  hand  !  O  cursed  blow ! 

Oriana  ! 
0  happy  thou  that  liest  low, 

Oriana ! 


226  BARTBRAM'S  DIRGE 

All  night  the  silence  seems  to  flow 
Beside  me  in  my  utter  woe, 

Oriana. 
A  weary,  weary  way  I  go, 

Oriana. 

When  Norland  winds  pipe  down  the  sea, 

Oriana, 
I  walk,  I  dare  not  think  of  thee, 

Oriana. 
Thou  liest  beneath  the  greenwood  tree, 
I  dare  not  die  and  come  to  thee, 

Oriana. 
I  hear  the  roaring  of  the  sea, 

Oriana. 

Alfred  Tennyson, 

BAKTHRAM'S  DIRGE 

Thet  shot  him  dead  on  the  Nine-Stone  Rig, 

Beside  the  Headless  Cross, 
And  they  left  him  lymg  in  his  blood, 

Upon  the  moor  and  moss. 


They  made  a  bier  of  the  broken  bough, 
The  sauch  and  the  aspin  gray, 

And  they  bore  him  to  the  Lady  Chapel, 
And  waked  him  there  all  day. 

A  lady  came  to  that  lonely  bower, 
And  threw  her  robes  aside  ; 


£  ART ff RAM'S  I)  J  RGB  227 

She  tore  her  ling  (long)  yellow  hair, 
And  knelt  at  Barthram's  side. 

She  bathed  him  in  the  Lady- Well 

His  wounds  so  deep  and  sair, 
And  she  plaited  a  garland  for  his  breast. 

And  a  garland  for  his  hair. 

They  rowed  him  in  a  lily  sheet, 

And  bare  him  to  his  earth, 
And  the  Gray  Friars  sung  the  dead  man's  mass 

As  they  passed  the  Chapel  Garth. 

They  buried  him  at  the  mirk  midnight, 

When  the  dew  fell  cold  and  still. 
When  the  aspin  gray  forgot  to  play, 

And  the  mist  clung  to  the  hill. 

They  dug  liis  grave  but  a  bare  foot  deep, 
By  the  edge  of  the  Nine-Stone  Burn, 

And  they  covered  him  o'er  with  the  heather-flower 
The  moss  and  the  Lady  fern. 

A  Gray  Friar  stayed  upon  the  grave, 

And  sang  till  the  morning  tide, 
And  a  friar  shall  sing  for  Barthram's  soiU, 

While  Headless  Cross  shall  bide. 

Surtees, 


22S  "VHE    YOUNG  MAY  MOON 


THE  YOUNG  MAY  MOON 

The  /oung  May  moon  is  beaming,  love, 
The  glow-worm's  lamp  is  gleaming,  love ; 

How  sweet  to  rove 

Through  Morna's  grove 
When  the  drowsy  world  is  dreaming,  love  ! 
Then  awake  !  —  the  heavens  look  bright,  my  dear  ; 
'T  is  never  too  late  for  delight,  my  dear ; 

And  the  best  of  all  ways 

To  lengthen  our  days 
Is  tc  steal  a  few  hours  from  the  night,  my  dear. 

No\'  all  the  world  is  sleeping,  love, 

Bui  ,he  Sage,  his  star-watch  keeping,  love, 

And  I,  whose  star, 

More  glorious  far, 
Is  tki  eye  from  that  casement  peeping,  love. 
Then  awake  !  —  till  rise  of  sun,  my  dear. 
The  Sage's  glass  we  '11  shun,  my  dear, 

Or,  in  watching  the  flight 

Of  bodies  of  light, 
He  might  happen  to  take  thee  for  one,  my  dear. 

Thomas  Moor6. 


ON  A  FAVORITE   CAT  229 


ON  A  FAVORITE  CAT,  DROWNED  IN  A  TUB 
OF  GOLDFISHES!        (fA.,^^^ 

'T  WAS  on  a  lofty  vase's  side  ''    ^^X-i^  (jf/ 

Where  China's  gayest  art  had  dyed  '  ( 

The  azure  flowers  that  blow, 
Demurest  of  the  tabby  kind, 
The  pensive  Selima,  reclined, 
Gazed  on  the  lake  below. 

Her  conscious  tail  her  joy  declared  : 
The  fair,  round  face,  the  snowy  beard. 
The  velvet  of  her  paws, 
Her  coat  that  \vith  the  tortoise  vies, 
Her  ears  of  jet,  and  emerald  eyes,  — 
She  saw,  and  purred  applause. 

Still  had  she  gazed,  but  'midst  the  tide 
Two  angel  forms  were  seen  to  glide. 
The  Genii  of  the  stream  : 
Their  scaly  armor's  Tyrian  hue, 
Through  richest  purple,  to  the  view 
Betrayed  a  golden  gleam. 

The  hapless  Nymph  with  wonder  saw  . 
A  whisker  first,  and  then  a  claw, 
With  many  an  ardent  wish, 
She  stretched,  in  vain,  to  reach  the  prize,  — 
What  female  heart  can  gold  despise  ? 
What  cat 's  averse  to  fish  ? 
1  Note  18. 


230  COUNTY  GUY 

Presumptuous  maid  !  with  looks  intent, 
Again  she  stretched,  again  she  bent, 
Nor  knew  the  gulf  between,  — 
Malignant  Fate  sat  by  and  smiled,  — 
The  slippery  verge  her  feet  beguiled  ; 
She  tumbled  headlong  in  ! 

Eight  times  emerging  from  the  flood, 
She  mewed  to  every  watery  god 
Some  speedy  aid  to  send  : 
No  Dolphin  came,  no  Nereid  stirred, 
Nor  cruel  Tom  nor  Susan  heard,  — 
A  favorite  has  no  friend  ! 

Prom  hence,  ye  Beauties  !  undeceived, 
Know  one  false  step  is  ne'er  retrieved, 
And  be  with  caution  bold  : 
Not  all  that  tempts  your  wandering  eyes 
And  heedless  hearts  is  lawful  prize, 
Nor  ail  that  glisters  gold ! 

Thomas  Gray. 

COUNTY  GUY 

Ah,  County  Guy  !  the  hour  is  nigh, 

The  sun  has  left  the  lea, 
The  orange  flower  perfumes  the  bower, 

The  breeze  is  on  the  sea. 
The  lark,  his  lay  who  trilled  all  day. 

Sits  hushed  his  partner  nigh  ; 
Breeze,  bird,  and  flower  confess  the  hour, 

But  where  is  County  Guy  ? 


NIGHT  231 

The  village  maid  steals  tlirougli  the  shade, 

Her  shepherd's  suit  to  hear ; 
To  beauty  shy,  by  lattice  high, 

Sings  high-born  Cavalier. 
The  star  of  Love,  all  stars  above, 

Now  reigns  o'er  earth  and  sky ; 
And  high  and  low  the  mfluence  know  — - 

But  where  is  County  Guy  ? 

Sir  Walter  Scott. 


NIGHT        nU^LfCt. 


The  sun  descending  in  the  west, 

The  evening  star  does  shine ; 
The  birds  are  silent  in  their  nest, 
And  I  must  seek  for  mine. 
The  moon,  like  a  flower 
In  heaven's  high  bower, 
With  silent  delight 
Sits  and  smiles  on  the  night. 

Farewell,  gi'een  fields  and  happy  groves. 

Where  flocks  have  ta'en  delight ; 
Where  lambs  have  nibbled,  silent  moves 
The  feet  of  angels  bright ; 
Unseen,  they  pour  blessing, 
And  joy  without  ceasing. 
On  each  bud  and  blossom, 
And  each  sleeping  bosom. 

They  look  in  every  thoughtless  nest, 
Where  birds  are  covered  warm. 


232  NIGHT 

They  visit  caves  of  every  beast, 
To  keep  them  all  from  harm  : 
If  they  see  any  weeping 
That  should  have  been  sleeping, 
They  pour  sleep  on  their  head, 
And  sit  down  by  their  bed. 

William  Blake 


NOTES 

Note  1.    Epitaph  on  a  Hare. 
Cowper  has  written  a  charming  prose  description  of  the  two 
wild  English  hares  that  he  succeeded  in  partially  taming,  and 
that  amused  and  comforted  many  melancholy  hours. 

Note  2.  A  Boy^s  Song. 
James  Hogg,  the  "  Ettrick  Shepherd,"  is  a  rare  instance  of 
native,  untaught  genius.  He  herded  sheep  from  the  time  he 
was  seven  years  old  imtil  he  was  thirty  ;  and  thoiigh  he  had 
learned  to  read  in  his  few  months  of  schooling,  it  was  not 
until  manhood  that  he  mastered  the  art  of  writing.  Sir 
Walter  Scott  was  his  true  friend,  and  gave  him  constant  aid 
and  encouragement.  His  best  poems  are  both  simple  and 
spirited,  showing  a  fine  sympathy  for  nature  and  outdoor 
life. 

Note  3.    Atdd  Robin  Gray. 
Lady  Anne  Lindsay,  when  a  girl  of  twenty-one,  wrote  this 
famous  poem  to  the  music  of  an  old  Scotch  melody.    It  is 
now  sung  to  a  different  air. 

Note  4.  Song  of  Marion'' s  Men. 
Francis  Marion,  a  Revolutionary  officer,  bom  in  Sotath 
Carolina.  He  trained  a  brigade  of  bold  and  adventurous 
frontiersmen,  who  made  the  forests  and  swamps  of  Carolina 
their  hiding^round.  They  knew  every  inch  of  these  gloomy 
and  treacherous  woods,  and  were  able,  with  little  danger  to 
themselves,  to  continually  attack  and  harass  the  British 
forces.  His  exploits  have  passed  into  song  and  story  ;  his 
courage,  endurance,  and  gay  defiance  of  all  dangers  and 
hardships,  halo  his  name  with  romance.  While  this  poem 
has  little  of  Bryant's  customary  finish,  it  is  spirited,  and  con- 
tains at  lea-st  one  charming  line,  "  Well  knows  the  fair  and 
friendly  moon." 


234  NOTES 

Note  5.    KublaKhan. 
A  \)eautiful  fragment  of  verse  composed  by  Coleridge  on 
awakening  from  a  sleep  in  which  he  had  dreamed  these  won- 
ders. 

Note  6.    Lucy. 
The  five  poems  written  by  Wordsworth  to  the  unknown 
"Lucy"  are  among  the  most  beautiful    of   English  lyrics. 
Though  they  reveal  little  beyond  her  early  death,  they  have 
made  her  name  a  living  power  in  song. 

Note  7.     To  a  Child  of  Q,uality,  Five  Years  Old. 
Nothing  is  known  of  this  famous  little  lady,  save  that  she 
was  long  thought  to  have  belonged  to  the  Dorset   family. 
The  poem  has  been  pronounced  by  critics  one  of  the  prettiest 
of  all  nursery  idyls. 

Note  8.     The  Destruction  of  Sennacherib. 
It  is  worth  while  to  notice  the  strength  and  simplicity  of 
Byron's  language  in  this  noble  poem. 

Note  9.      Song. 
Supposed  to  be  sung  by  one  of  Robin  Hood's  outlawed  band 
in  merry  Sherwood  Forest. 

Note  10.   Old  Ironsides. 
This  was  the  popular  name  by  which  the  famous  frigate 
Constitution  was  known. 

Note  11.  Hime  of  the  Ancient  Mariner. 
The  finest  of  modern  ballads.  It  first  appeared  in  a  little 
volume  entitled  "  Lyrical  Ballads,"  published  by  Words- 
worth and  Coleridge ;  and  while  many  people  marveled  at 
its  weird  extravagance,  true  critics,  like  Charles  Lamb,  rec- 
ognized it  at  once  as  a  masterpiece. 

Note  12.    Elegy  written  in  a  Country  Churchyard. 
Gray's  reputation  as  a  poet  rests  principally  on  this  famous 
elegy  —  a  strong  and  sure  foundation.    It  is  a  poem   abso* 
lutely  perfect  of  its  kind. 


NOTES  235 

Note  13.    Jenny  Kissed  Me. 
"  Jenny  "  is  said  to  have  been  Jane  Welsh  Carlyle,  wife  of 
the  historian,  Thomas  Carlyle,  a  very  brilliant  and  charming 
woman. 

Note  14.     TJie  Colubriad. 
The    Colnbriad  means    the   history  or  story  of  a  snake, 
colubra  being  the  Latin  word  for  a  female  adder  or  viper. 

Note  15.    Hohenlindcn. 
A  village  in  Upper  Bavaria,  where,  on  the  3d  of  December, 
1800,  the  French  general  Moldeau  met  and  defeated  the  arch- 
duke John  of  Austria. 

Note  16.     The  Burial  of  Sir  John  Moore  at  Corunna. 
Sir  John  Moore,  a  British  general,  lost  his  life  in  Spain, 
fighting  against    Napoleon's  victorious  army.     The  French 
built  him  a  tomb  at  Corunna,  with  this  simple  and  noble  in- 
ficription :  — 

John  Moore, 

TjSads^  of  the  English  Armies. 

glaiii-i»-Barttle, 

1809. 

Note  17.     Telling  the  Bees. 
In  old  times  it  was  the  common  custom,  when  a  member 
of  the  household  died,  to  inform  the  bees  of  the  death,  and 
drape  their  hives  with  black.     Otherwise,  it  was  thought, 
they  would  fly  away. 

Note  18.  On  a  Favorite  Cat,  drowned  in  a  Tub  of  Gold- 
fishes. 
These  delightful  verses  were  sent  by  Gray  in  a  letter  to 
Horace  Walpole,  who  had  written  to  the  poet  that  hia 
"  handsome  cat "  had  been  drowned  in  a  bowl  of  goldfishes. 
Several  copies  of  the  poem,  in  Gray's  handwriting,  are  in  ex 
istence. 


INDEX  OF  AUTHOKS 


iLDEicH,  Thomas  Bahet. 
Alec  Yeaton's  Son,  220. 
Like  Crusoe,  walking  by  the 

Lonely  Strand,  47. 
The  Voice  of  the  Sea,  206. 
AixiNGHAM,  William. 
Robin  Redbreast,  146. 
The  Fairies,  32. 
Beddoes,  Thomas  Lovell. 
Song,  171. 
SaUors'  Song,  39. 
Blake,  William. 
Infant  Joy,  5. 
Night,  231. 
The  Lamb,  91. 
The  Tiger,  201. 
Bbownikg,  Robert. 

Home  Thoughts  from  Abroad, 
145. 
Betant,  William  Cullen. 
Robert  of  Liucobi,  51. 
Song  of  Marion's  Men,  47. 
To  a  Waterfowl,  37. 
BCBNS,  Robebt. 
Jean,  37. 

To  a  Mountain  Daisy,  89. 
Bteon,  Lord. 

The    Destruction    of    Senna- 
cherib, 60. 
Campbell,  Thomas. 
Glenara,  50. 
Hohenlinden,  202. 
Lord  Ullin's  Daughter,  7. 
The    Mariners    of     England, 
72. 
Caekw,  Thomas. 

The  True  Beauty,  62. 

ClBBBB,  COLLEY. 

The  Blind  Boy,  29. 
CoiiKRiDOB,  Samuel  Taylor. 

Kubla  Khan,  57. 

Rime  of  the  Ancient  Mariner, 
109. 
Collins,  William. 

How  sleep  the  Brave,  16. 


CowPBR,  William. 

Epitaph  ou  a  Hare,  3. 
The  Colubriad,  100. 
Ccnnisoham,  Allah. 

At  Sea,  G. 
Dbayton,  Michael. 

The  Battle  of  AgincOUit,  20^. 
Deyden,  John. 

Alexander's  Feast,  191. 
Emerson,  Ralph  Waldo. 

The  Humble-Bee,  215. 
Garnbtt,  Richard. 
Marigold,  102. 
Gray,  Thomas. 

Elegy    written  in  a    Country 

Cliurchyard,  147. 
On  a  Favorite  Cat,  drowned  in 
a  Tub  of  Goldfishes,  229. 
Herrick,  Robert. 

The  Night  Piece,  143. 
To  Dianeme,  62. 
HooG,  James. 

A  Boy's  Song,  9. 
Holmes,  Oliver  Wendell. 
Dorothy  Q.,  158. 
Old  Ironsides,  73. 
The  Chambered  Nautilus,  10. 
The  Last  Leaf,  155. 
Hood,  Thomas. 
Ballad,  154. 
Song,  24. 
Howitt,  Mary. 

The  Fairies  of  the  CaldonLow, 
91. 
Hunt,  Leigh. 

Jenny  Kissed  Me,  167. 
Jonson,  Ben. 

Epitaph  on  the   Coimtess    or 

Pembroke,  171. 
Hymn  to  Diana,  23. 
Keats,  John. 

La  Belle  Dame  Sans  Mercy, 

190. 
On  first  looking    into    Chap 
man's  Homer,  200. 


J38 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


BllNGSLEY,  CHAELES. 

The  Merry  Lark,  104. 

The  "Old,  Old  Soug,"  207. 
Lamb,  Mary. 

Choosing  a  Name,  41. 
Landor,  Walter  Savage. 

Rose  Ayliiier,  107. 
Ijndsay,  Lady  Anne. 

Auld  Robiu  Gray,  35. 
LocKHART,  John  Gibson. 

The  Wandering  Knight's  Song, 
198. 
Longfellow,  Henry  Wadsworth. 

Daybreak,  '214. 

The  Discoverer  of  the  North 
Cape,  178. 

The  Phantom  Ship,  95. 

The  Skeleton  in  Armor,  75. 

The  Village  Blacksmith,  49. 

The  Wreck  of  the  Hesperus,  19. 

Twilight,  218. 
Lovelace,  Richard. 

To  Lucasta,  on  going  to  the 
Wars,  138. 
Lowell,  James  Russell. 

Aladdin,  103. 

The  Nightingale  in  the  Study, 
30. 

The  Shepherd  of  King  Adme- 
tiis,  173. 
Mablowe,  Christopher. 

The   Passionate  Shepherd    to 
his  Love,  65. 
MicKLE,  William  Julius. 

The  Sailor's  Wife,  27. 
MiLTON,  John. 

Ode  on  the  Morning  of  Christ's 
Nativity,  182. 
Moore,  Thomas. 

Canadian  Boat  Song,  106. 

The  Young  May  Moon,  228. 
Morris,  William. 

Shameful  Death,  88. 
Kadaud,  Gustave. 

Carcassonne,  39. 
Norton,  Caroline  Elizabeth. 

The  King  of  Denmark's  Ride, 
104. 
Peacock,  Thomas  Love. 

Song,  71. 
PoE,  Edgae  Allan. 

Annabel  Lee,  172. 
Prior,  Matthew. 

To  a  Child    of   Quality,   five 
years  old,  63. 
BcoTT,  Sir  Walter. 

Allen-a^Dale,  153. 

County  Guy,  230. 

Hunting  Song,  1. 


Jock  of  Hazeldean,  105. 

Nora's  Vow,  74. 

Proud  Maisie,  64. 

Rosabelle,  107. 

The  Rover,  203. 

Young  Lochinvar,  14. 
Shakespeare,  William. 

Ariel's  Songs,  86. 

A  Sea  Dirge,  24. 

Fairy  Song,  1C9. 

LuUaby  for  Titania,  170. 

Song,  138. 

Song,  203. 
Shelley,  Percy  Bysshe. 

To  a  Skylark,  139. 

To  the  Night,  199. 
Stevenson,  Robert  Louis. 

Requiem,  200. 

The  Dumb  Soldier,  162. 

The  Land  of  Story  Books,  102. 
Surtees,  Robert. 

Bartliram's  Dirge,  226. 
Tennyson,  Alfred. 

Ballad  of  Oriana,  223. 

Break,  Break,  Break,  87. 

Bugle  Song,  152. 

Lady  Clare,  165. 

Lullaby,  25. 

The  Brook,  54. 
Unknown. 

Adam  o'  Gordon,  82. 

Annan  Water,  25. 

Annie  Laurie,  222. 

A  Spring  Lilt,  104. 

Sir  Marmaduke,  45. 

Sir  Patrick  Spens,  67. 

The  Farewell,  81. 

The  Lass  of  Lochroyan,  133. 

The  Northern  Star,  40. 
Waller,  Edmund. 

Go,  Lovely  Rose,  144. 
Watts,  Isaac. 

A  Cradle  Song,  101. 
Whittier,  John  Greenleaf. 

Abr.aham  Davenport,  42. 

Indian  Summer,  217. 

My  Playmate,  11. 

Telling  the  Bees,  212. 

The  Barefoot  Boy,  97. 

The  Sisters,  175. 
Wolfe,  Charles. 

The  Burial  of  Sir  John  Moore^ 
204. 
Wordsworth,  William. 

Lucy,  59. 

Lucy,  00. 

Lucy  Gray ;  or,  Solitude,  17. 

March,  219. 

The  Solitary  Reaper,  2. 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


Abraham  Davenport,  42. 
Adam  o'  Gordon.  82. 
Aladdin,  103. 
Alec  Teaton's  Sou,  220. 
Alexander's  Feast,  191. 
Allen-a-Dale,  153. 
Aiuiabel  Lee,  172. 
Annan  Water,  25. 
Annie  Laurie,  222. 
Ariel's  Songs,  86. 
At  Sea,  6. 
Auld  Robin  Gray,  35. 

Ballad,  154. 
Ballad  of  Oriana,  223. 
Barefoot  Boy,  The,  97. 
Barthram's  Dirge,  226. 
Battle  of  Agincourt,  The,  207. 
Blind  Boy,  The,  29. 
Boy's  Song,  A,  9. 
Break,  Break,  Break,  87. 
Brook,  The,  54. 
Bugle  Song,  152. 

Burial  of  Sir  John  Moore  at  Co- 
runna,  204. 

Canadian  Boat  Song,  106. 
Carcassonne,  39. 
Chambered  Nautilus,  The,  10. 
Chapman's  Homer,  On  first  look- 
ing into,  200. 
Child  of  Quality,  To  a,  63. 
Choosing  a  Name,  41. 
Colubriad,  The,  100. 
County  Guy,  230. 
Cradle  Song,  A,  101. 

Daybreak,  214. 

Destruction  of  Sennacherib,  The, 

G6. 
Dianeme,  To,  62. 
Discoverer  of  the  North  Cape,  The, 

178. 
Dorothy  Q.,  158. 
Dumb  Soldier,  The,  162. 


Elegy  written  in  a  Country  Church 
yard,  147. 

Epitaph  on  a  Hare,  3. 

Epitaph  on  the  Countess  of  Pem- 
broke, 171. 

Fairies,  The,  32. 

Fairies  of  the  Caldon  Low,  The, 

91. 
Fairy  Song,  169. 
Farewell,  The,  81. 

Glenara,  56. 

Go,  Lovely  Rose,  144. 

Hohenlinden,  202. 

Home  Thouglits  from  Abroad,  145. 

How  Sleep  the  Brave,  16. 

Humble-Bee,  The,  215. 

Hunting  Song,  1. 

Hymn  to  Diana,  23. 

Indian  Summer,  217. 
Infant  Joy,  5. 

Jean,  37. 

Jenny  Kissed  Me,  157. 

Jock  of  Hazeldean,  105. 

King  of  Denm.-irk's  Ride,  The,  164. 
Kubla  Khan,  57. 

La  Belle  Dame  Sans  Mercy,  196. 

Lady  Clare,  105. 

Lamb,  Tlie,  91. 

Land  of  Story  Books,  The,  102. 

Lass  of  Lochroyan,  The,  133. 

Last  Leaf,  The,  155. 

Like  Crusoe,  walking  by  the  Louel] 

Strand,  47. 
Lord  Ullin's  Daughter,  7. 
Lucasta,  To,  138. 
Lucy,  59. 
Lucy,  60. 
Lucy  Gr.iy,  17. 


240 


INDEX   OF  TITLES 


Lullaby,  25. 

Lullaby  for  Titania,  170. 

March,  219. 

Marigold,  1G2. 

Mariners  of  England,  The,  72. 

Merry  Lark,  The,  104. 

Mountain  Daisy,  To  a,  89. 

My  Playmate.  1). 

Night,  231. 
Night,  To  the,  199. 
Night  Piece,  Tlie,  143. 
Nightingale  in  tlie  Study,  The,  30. 
Nora's  Vow,  74. 
Northern  Star,  The,  46. 

Ode  on  the   Morning   of   Christ's 

Nativity,  182. 
Old  Ironsides,  73. 
"  Old,  Old  Song,"  The,  207. 
On  a  Favorite  Cat,  drowned  in  a 

Tub  of  Goldfishes,  229. 
On   first  looking  into   Chapman's 

Homer,  200. 

Passionate  Shepherd  to  his  Love, 

The,  G5. 
Phantom  Ship,  The,  95. 
Proud  Maisie,  G4. 

Requiem,  206. 

Rime  of  the  Ancient  Mariner,  109. 

Robert  of  Lincoln,  51. 

Robin  Redbreast,  146. 

Rosabelle,  107. 

Rose  Aylmer,  107, 

Rover,  The,  203. 

Sailor's  "Wife,  The,  27. 
Sailors'  Song,  39. 
Sea  Dirge,  A,  24. 
Shameful  Death,  88. 


■Shepherd  of  King  Admetus,  The, 

173. 
Sir  Marmaduke,  45. 
Sir  Patrick  Spens,  67. 
Sisters,  The,  175. 
Skeleton  in  Armor,  The,  75. 
Skylark,  To  a,  139. 
Solitary  Reaper,  The,  2. 
Song,  "  A  lake  and  a  fairy  boat," 

24. 
Song,  "  For  the  tender  beech,"  71. 
Song,  "  Full  fathom  five,"  24. 
Song,  "  Hark,  hark  !  the  lark,  203. 
Song,     "  Under    the     greenwood 

tree,"  138. 
Song,  "  Who  is  the  baby  that  doth 

lie,"  171. 
Song  of  Marion's  Men,  47. 
Spring  Lilt,  A,  104. 

Telling  the  Bees,  212. 

The  Mariners  of  England,  72. 

Tiger,  The,  201. 

To  a  Child  of  Quality,  63. 

To  a  Mountain  Daisy,  89. 

To  a  Skylark,  139. 

To  a  Waterfowl,  37. 

To  Dianeme,  62. 

To  Lucasta,  on  going  to  the  Wars, 

138. 
True  Beauty,  The,  62. 
TwiUght,  218. 

Village  Blacksmith,  The,  49. 
Voice  of  the  Sea,  The,  206. 

Wandering  Knight's    Song,   The, 

198. 
Waterfowl,  To  a,  37. 
Wreck  of  the  Hesperus,  The,  19. 

Young  Lochinvar,  14. 
Young  May  Moon,  The,  228. 


INDEX  OF  FIEST  LINES 


A  chieftain  to  the  Highlands  bound,  7. 

Ah,  County  Guy  !  the  hour  is  nigh,  230. 

Ah  1  what  avails  the  sceptred  race,  107. 

Ah  I  what  can  ail  thee,  wretched  wight,  196. 

A  lake  and  a  fairy  boat,  24. 

Allen-a-dale  has  no  fagot  for  burning,  153. 

And  are  ye  sure  the  news  is  true,  27. 

And  where  have  you  been,  my  Mary,  91. 

Annan  water 's  wading  deep,  25. 

Annie  and  Rhoda,  sisters  twain,  175. 

At  evening,  when  the  lamp  is  lit,  102. 

A  weary  lot  is  thine,  fair  maid,  203. 

A  wet  sheet  and  a  flowing  sea,  6. 

A  wind  came  up  out  of  the  sea,  214. 

Ay,  tear  her  tattered  ensign  down,  73. 

Behold  her,  single  in  the  field,  2. 
Blessings  on  thee,  little  man,  97. 
Break,  break,  break,  87. 
Burly,  dozing  humble-bee,  215. 

Close  by  the  threshold  of  a  door  nailed  fast,  160o 
"  Come  forth  !  "  my  catbird  calls  to  me,  30. 
Come  live  with  me  and  be  my  love,  65. 
Come  unto  these  yellow  sands,  86. 

Faintly  as  tolls  the  evening  chime,  106. 

Fair  stood  the  wind  for  France,  207. 

For  the  tender  beech  and  the  sapling  oak,  71. 

From  gold  to  gray,  217. 

Full  fathom  five  thy  father  lies,  24. 


242  INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 

Go,  lovely  rose,  144. 

Good-by,  good-by  to  summer,  146. 

Grandmother's  mother :  her  age,  I  guess,  158. 

Hail  to  thee,  blithe  spirit,  139. 

Hark,  hark  !  the  lark  at  heaven's  gate  sings,  203= 

Hear  what  Highland  Nora  said,  74. 

Here  is  the  place  ;  right  over  the  hiU,  212. 

Here  lies  whom  hound  did  ne'er  pursue,  3. 

Her  eyes  the  glow-worm  lend  thee,  143. 

He  that  loves  a  rosy  cheek,  62. 

How  sleep  the  Brave  who  sink  to  rest,  16. 

Hush !  my  dear,  lie  stUl  and  slumber,  101. 

I  come  from  haunts  of  coot  and  hern,  54, 

I  have  got  a  new-born  sister,  41. 

I  have  no  name,  5. 

I  'm  growing  old  ;  I  've  sixty  years,  39. 

In  Mather's  Magnalia  Christi,  95. 

In  the  hush  of  the  autumn  night,  206. 

In  the  old  days  (a  custom  laid  aside),  42. 

In  Xanadu  did  Kubla  Khan,  57. 

I  saw  him  once  before,  155. 

It  fell  about  the  Martinmas,  82. 

It  is  an  ancient  Mariner,  109. 

It  was  a'  for  our  rightfu'  King,  81. 

It  was  many  and  many  a  year  ago,  172. 

It  was  the  schooner  Hesperus,  19. 

It  was  the  time  when  lilies  blow,  165. 

Jenny  kissed  me  when  we  met,  157. 

Like  Crusoe,  walking  by  the  lonely  strand,  47. 

Little  lamb,  who  made  thee,  91. 

Lords,  knights,  and  'squires,  the  numerous  band,  G3. 

Maxwelton  braes  are  bonnie,  222. 

Merrily  swinging  on  brier  and  weed,  51. 

Much  have  I  traveled  in  the  realms  of  gold,  200. 

My  heart  is  wasted  with  my  woe,  223. 

My  ornaments  are  arms,  198. 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES  243 

Not  a  drum  was  beard,  not  a  funeral  note,  204. 

Of  a'  the  airts  the  wind  can  blaw,  37. 

Oft  I  had  heard  of  Lucy  Gray,  17. 

Oh,  heard  ye  yon  pibroch  sound  sad  in  the  gale,  56. 

Oh,  listen,  listen,  ladies  gay,  107. 

Oh,  say  what  is  that  thing  called  Light,  29. 

Oh,  to  be  in  England,  145. 

Oh,  who  will  shoe  ray  bonny  foot,  133. 

Oh,  young  Lochinvar  is  come  out  of  the  West,  14. 

On  Linden,  when  the  sun  was  low,  202. 

Othere,  the  old  sea-captain,  178. 

Our  band  is  few,  but  true  and  tried,  47. 

Over  hill,  over  dale,  169. 

Proud  Maisie  is  in  the  wood,  64. 

Queen  and  Huntress,  chaste  and  fair,  23. 

She  dwelt  among  the  untrodden  ways,  59. 

She  moved  through  the  garden  in  glory,  because,  162, 

She  's  up  and  gone,  the  graceless  girl,  154. 

Sii-  Marmaduke  was  a  hearty  knight,  45. 

Speak,  speak  !  thou  fearful  guest,  75. 

Sweet  and  low,  sweet  and  low,  25. 

Sweet,  be  not  proud  of  those  two  eyes,  62. 

Swiftly  walk  over  the  western  wave,  199. 

Tell  me  not  (sweet)  I  am  unkind,  138. 

The  Assyrian  came  down  like  the  wolf  on  the  fold,  66. 

The  cock  is  crowing,  219. 

The  curfew  tolls  the  knell  of  parting  day,  147. 

The  king  sits  in  Dunfermline  toun,  67. 

The  merry,  merry  lark  was  up  and  singing,  104. 

The  Northern  Star,  46. 

The  pines  were  dark  on  Ramoth  hill,  11. 

There  came  a  youth  upon  the  earth,  173. 

There  were  four  of  us  about  that  bed,  88. 

The  splendor  falls  on  castle  walls,  152, 

The  sun  descending  in  the  west,  231. 

The  twilight  is  sad  and  cloudy,  218, 


244  INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 

The  wind  it  wailed,  the  wind  it  moaned,  220. 
The  young  May  moon  is  beaming,  love,  228. 
They  shot  him  dead  on  the  Nine-Stone  Rig,  226. 
Tliis  is  the  month,  and  this  the  happy  morn,  182„ 
This  is  the  ship  of  pearl,  which,  poets  feign,  10. 
Thi-ee  years  she  grew  in  sun  and  shower,  60. 
Through  the  silver  mist,  104. 
Tiger,  tiger,  burning  bright,  201. 
To  sea,  to  sea  !    The  calm  is  o'er,  39. 
'T  was  at  the  royal  feast  for  Persia  won,  191. 
'T  was  on  a  lofty  vase's  side,  229. 

Under  a  spreading  chestnut  tree,  49. 
Underneath  this  sable  hearse,  171. 
Under  the  greenwood  tree,  138. 
Under  the  wide  and  starry  sky,  206. 
Up  the  airy  mountain,  32. 

Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay,  1. 

Wee,  modest,  crimson-tipped  flower,  89, 

When  all  the  world  is  young,  lad,  207. 

When  I  was  a  beggarly  boy,  103, 

When  the  grass  was  closely  mown,  162. 

When  the  sheep  are  in  the  fauld,  and  the  kye  at  hame,  35. 

^Vhe^e  the  bee  sucks,  there  suck  I,  86. 

Where  the  pools  are  bright  and  deep,  9. 

Wliither,  'midst  falling  dew,  37, 

Who  is  the  baby  that  doth  lie,  171. 

Why  weep  ye  by  the  tide,  ladie,  105. 

Word  was  brought  to  the  Danish  king,  164. 

Ye  mariners  of  England,  72. 

You  spotted  snakes  with  double  tongue,  170. 


UNIVE.RSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  AT  LOS  ANGELES 

THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  "below 


DFC   2  0  1946 
OEC  2  1  1950* 


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PR 

1171 

R29 


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